I 



THE CONVALESCENT. 



BY 



vy 



N. PARKER WILLIS. 




ISTEW YOEK: 

CHxiRLES SORIBNER, 124 GPwA^TD STREET. 

M DCCC LIX. 



P5 33^t 



Entbrbd according to Act of Congress, in the j-ear 1S59, by 

CHARLES SCRIBNER, 

In the Clerk's OflBce of the District Court of the United States, for t'lie Southern Dijtrictof 

Nev/ York. 



W. II. TiNsoN, Storootj'jA.^r. J. J. Ueitu. Printer. 



TO 

WILLIAM BEATTIE, OF LONDON, 

AND 

JOHN F. GRAY, OF NEW YORK, 

PHYSICIANS, 

To whose counsel I have owed so much, and whose still 

COIN'ST^N-T in R I E ns- 3D S H I F, 

in health or sickness, is so inestimably precious to me, I 
gratefully inscribe this record of convalescence. 

N. P. WILLIS. 
Tdlewild, April, 1859. 



DEDICATORY PREFACE. 



To SICKNESS I have always found I had much reason to be 
indebted ; but, among the other blessings which have come to 
me under its apparent unterapting veil, I number two of the 
most precious memories of the past — two of the habitual and 
most unfailing sources of my happiness at the present hour — 
the friendships of two eminent men, to whose medical care 
and counsel, under Providence, I have, at different times, 
owed my recovery. 

By Dr. "William Beattie, the English poet and physician, 
so well known to our countrymen, I was first attended, in 1835, 
when dangerously ill in London ; and, with the acquaintance 
thus formed upon a sick-bed, commenced a confidential inter- 
course, maintained subsequently by a correspondence, which, 
after twenty-four years of almost constant separation, still 
retains its first interest and cordialit3% My last and just- 
received letter from the venerable man (now near eighty 
years of age, if I am not mistaken), came accompanied with 
a present of ten or twelve rare books from his choice library, 
and an invaluable manuscript of Campbell the poet, whose 
most intimate friend he was during that afflicted man's trou- 
bled life, and to whom he performed so devotedly the last 
services and honors. 

By Dr. John F. Geat, of New York, I have been more 
lately attended, through the years of my critical experience ot 



t 



ii Dedicatory Preface. 

pulinonaiy disease ; and to his admirable skill, and watchful 
and patient care, I owe, like so many others, a recovery, by all 
others thought impossible. Eor even so weary an illness, since 
it brought within reach treasures I might otherwise have lost 
— the intimate knowledge of such a man, and the privileged 
assurance of a place in his heart — I thank God as for a 
blessing. 

Looking upon the well-tried and affectionate friendships of 
these two eminent and admirable men — friendships first won 
in sickness, but confirmed and strengthened in after health — 
as among the choicest privileges and honors of my varied life, 
let me, by gratefully inscribing their names together on the 
first leaf of this record of convalescence, link the two jewels 
found so far apart, to be left, as it were, in a casket of memory 
to my children. 



TO THE READER. 



The key to the volume whicn follows — or rather the 
encouragement to the collection of its contents into a volume 
for re-publication — is the very large correspondence of inquiry 
drawn upon me by the appearance of tlie articles, one after 
another, in the " Home Journal." I find, by the number and 
earnestness of the strangers who have thus written to me, 
that there is a very large Public of Unrest, composed of 
Invalids — consumptives more particularly — whose main and 
most hopeful inquiry is for some new catholicon of health. 
From any more fortunate or successful fellow-patient, whose 
cure would seem to be remarkable, the experience is sought, 
with exceeding interest and particularity. 

" Convalescent " as I find myself to be, at present, how- 
ever, or in as fair healtli as may reasonably be expected at 
the beginning of one's fifties — and this after being pro- 
nounced by many physicians an incurable case of consump- 
tion — I have no special medicine to commend. It is in 
answer to many correspondents that I here say I can advocate 
no particular theory of pulmonary treatment. With a rea- 
sonable amount of advice from any school of medicine, with 
a sensible watch of Nature's curative instincts, and wath 
proper self-government, persevering exercise, and control of 
appetites, the most "incurable" may often take the "favor- 
able turn." There is but one little secret, of which I may 



iv To THE Reader. 

confess to have accidentally learned the value in my ovrn 
experience of recovery — accidentally, because I practised it, 
not for cure but by way of resigning myself to a destiny I 
believed to be irretrievable — and in this very un-medical 
secret there may often be a cure, for consumption. It is that 
the patient, after paying reasonable attention to the symptoms 
and treatment of his disease, should ignore and out-Jiappy it I 
"With good spirits, occupation, and tlie disease talcen Utile or 
no notice of^ recovery is, at least, much more likely. This 
book V7ill, perhaps do its best office, in showing how that 
indirect cure operated upon me. 

Of topics which interested me, of excursions I took, etc. etc. 
during this year or two of convalescence, the chronicles are 
also here given. It forms altogether a volume of most digres- 
sive miscellanies, for which, of the general reader, indulgence 
should be asked. But it is to my parish of Invalids, that, I 
must confess, I principally address and commend it. 



CONTENTS 



LETTER I 



Advantage of Evergreen Trees — Swapping Hats— Billy Babcock, the Centena- 
rian—His Habits and Dress — His Memory of Washington — His Pension — 
Droll effect of meeting on the Road a given-away Suit of Old Clothes, etc., 13 

LETTER II. ^ 

Spontaneousness in Writing — An Adventure in Riding — Mounted at one time 
on a Horse and a Cow — A Story by a neighbor Fisherman — Catching a Snap- 
ping-turtle — Ward's Adventures — The Difficulties of Winter Pilotage of 
Steamboats, before the Railroad on the Hudson — Bald Eagle on the Ice, 
etc., etc 21 

LETTER III. 

Winter Diseases — Foliage in White, after a Light Snow — Capture of a 'Possum 
—Chase in the Snow, with Bare Legs — 'Possum's Habits when caught, etc. 83 

LETTER IV. 

The Highlands, with the Hudson frozen over — Difference of Scenery without 
Water — Sleigh-ride over the Ice — West Point— Cozzens's—Dell-Monell and 
Font-Anna— Tedium of Winter 89 

LETTER V. 

Use of Love for Dumb Animals — Quinty and his Doom — A stray Dog and his 
Habits — His death— Dog Insanity, etc 43 

LETTER YI. 

Poetry of Wild Animals in a Neighborhood— An Insane Wolf— His coming down 
from the Mountains to claim Hospitality — Visit to a Neighbor's to see his Re- 
mains — Tlie Irishman's reluctance to confessing having buried him — The dis- 
illusion and the '♦ Yaller Dog." 43 



vi Contents. 



LETTER VII. 

Pilgrimage across the River — Two miles on the Ice — Polypus Island — Its Un- 
suspected Capabilities — Billy Babcock and his Hat — The Sonnet to the Hat, 
etc, etc 65 



LETTER VIII . 

Pleasure of doing a Thing for the First Time — Meeting of Politicians on the 
Road, bound to a Meeting — Asked to go and make a Speech — The Disadvan- 
tage of the Counsellor's handsome Boots — My Speech in Favor of dividing the 
County, etc., etc 61 

LETTER IX. 

Charm of Early Spring — Philosophy of Work as Overseer — Kindling Woods- 
Th'e Skunk and his Flesh and Habits — The Monument to the Czar— A curious 
Stump coming down with the Freshet — Quinty'a Fear of it, etc., etc 71 

LETTER X. 

Visit from Old Billy Babcock — His Breakfast and Memories — Billy's Dagnerreo- 
type— Honoring Gift of a Coat to him— Sam B. Ruggles's Impulse, etc. etc. 80 

LETTER XI. 

Visit to a Valley Uninhabited — Johnny Kronk's Fisherman Hut — Hubbard tbe 
Boatman — Discovery of a Spring, and Naming it Font Anna — An Eagle — Pic- 
Nic in Dell-Monell— The Baptism by that Name — Snakes not found, etc.,. . 87 

LETTER XII. 

Rights of Boys — Natural Freedom of Chestnut-trees — A Chestnut- Saturday- 
Curious party of Strangers visiting Idlewild — Tying Horses to Trees in Pri- 
vate Grounds — Low Standard of general Politeness 94 

LETTER XIII. 

My Crumb-family of Winter-birds — The Kingfisher and Blue Jay — the Red 
Squirrel — A Quadruped Chicken — A Chicken half Duck — A Stuffed Bantam 
Hen — Interview between Stuffed Hen and Living Bantam Cock, Jake, etc. 100 

LETTER XIV. 

Late Freshet — Pond washed out and Boat gone — Death of two favorite Dogs — 
Charming Habits of the lost ones— Jake's other Name— His History etc.. lOT 



Contents. vii 



LETTER XV. 

Letter to Morris about a previous Letter torn-up — Temptingness of the topic~ 
Pleasure of writing confidentially — Tired loolc at the Letter — Discontent 
with it — Tearing up — Reason why, and reconsideration — Irving's Abbotsford 
— Fragments of torn Letter re-gathered — Trip to Irvington — Breakfast with 
an old Friend in a same old place — Railway ride to Irvington — Wolfert's, 
dell — Mr. Grinnell's yacht, the " Haze " — Sunnyside and Mr. Irving, etc. 
etc 116 



LETTER XVI. 

Continuance of Letter to Morris descriptive of a Day with Washington Irving — 
Impression of his Appearance — Visit to his Library — His Desk and Blotting- 
sheet — Conversation for a half hour — Literary habits — Motley's "Dutch Repub- 
lic" — Feeling as to his own New Books before they Avere reviewed — History of 
the first Conception of the Sketch-Book — Pictures on the Walls— The Grounds 
of Sunnyside — Comparison of Climates — Tulip-trees in triplets — Squirrels and 
two-legged Tree-destroyers— Humorous Reason for Growth of Trees — Incident 
at starting on our Drive to Sleepy Hollow, etc., etc 124 



LETTER XVII. 

Concluding Letter to Morris about the Visit to Mr. Irving — Protest against 
" Influence of the Air " of Sleepy Hollow — " Green Lane" character of the 
Road — No living Dutch Inhabitants to be seen— House of the Dutch Family 
who keep the Keys of the Hollow— Boyish Reminiscence of Mr. Irving's — 
Monument of Andre— Haunted Bridge of Logs — Brom Bone's Pumpkin — 
Character of Scenery— Oldest Church on the River— Family Tomb of the 
Irvings — Passing of Undercliff in the Rail-train — Philosophy of Mr. Irving's 
Charm of Personal Character and Manner, etc., etc 135 



LETTER XVIII. 

Containing a Curious Story of a Hard-run Squirrel and two Celebrated 
Editors 145 



LETTER XIX. 

Ancient Duty of Hospitality— Chance for it at Newbur.gh— The Boats up and 
down— Trip to Poughkeepsie — Passengers on the Day -boat— Missing the Down- 
boat— Adventures in Poughkeepsie— The splendid Straw Hat for a Sign, and 
its Eager Acquisition— A whole Child, etc., etc i 158 



viii Contents. 



LETTER XX. 

Jake and Quinty once more — A Poem to Jake's Memory — The Dog the Under- 
valued of this Earth— De Trobriand's Obituary of Jake — Present of a new Dog 
from a Stranger— BeU'a getting him Home — Jerry's Character and his hatred 
of a Gentleman — Bianca Raventail and Kitty Grizzle — Dog Friendship and 
its Nature — Monody on Quinty, by a Distinguished Lady of Boston, etc. 165 



LETTER XXI. 

Bianca Raventairs behavior to a Wild-cat Cousin — A Secret too romantic to be 
kept — Bayard Taylor and our Friend the Judge— Taylor's Friendship and his 
fellow Traveller — His Letter — Description of his German Home — Offer 
of Capital to Taylor, by Col. Perkins of Boston— Romance of Taylor's Life, 
etc ISO 



LETTER XXII. 

Previous Account by Friend Sands — Seeing with different Eyes— The raised Leg 
of Massachusetts— His laid-off Garter and Slippers— Fossil of an Eden Day — 
Buzzard's Bay Physiognomy — Wood's Hole — The Yacht Azalia — Edgartown, 
and its Head Man Dr. Fisher— Indian Shell-currency of the Island — Extract 
from an old Book about Nantucket — Quaker Character of Buildings and of 
Scenery — Contrast between Quaker and Indian Names — Indian Legend and 
its Poetry— Quaker superiorities — Early and easy Marriages — Whale Oil Agil- 
ity and Grace of Gait, etc., etc 19T 



LETTER XXIII. 

Gay Reception at Edgartown — Happy Exemption from the usual Penalty of 
the Voyage— Picnic Refreshment on the Voyage — Universal Temperance — 
Original Price of the Island of Nantucket — Quaker Exemptions from Com- 
mon social Evils— Curious Chapter from an Old Book, about the •'Friends " 
of Nantucket, and their Manners and Customs — Specimen of the First-born 
Poetry of the Island, etc. etc 210 



LETTER XXIV. 

Arrival at Nantucket — Peculiar Vehicle of the Island — Ramble in the Town 
the first Evening — Disappointment in the Physiognomy of the Place— Visit to 
an Old Inhabitant— The Macy Family — Picture of the last Indian Native of 
the Island— His Pride about Shoes— Kadooda and his Laws — Band of Music 
— Curious Nantucket Predjudices, formerly, on the Subject, etc., etc 228 



Contents. ix 



LETTER XXV. 

Mounting a Nantucket Steeple— Sensations in theBelfry— Curious Spanish Bell — 
Trip to 'Sconset— Funny Laws of the Place— Queer Poem — Arrival at the Ar- 
cadian Village — Hour on the Beach before Dinner— Sea-Mockery of Life's 
Story — Meeting with Ladies— Chowder-Time and Entrance to the Inn— The 
Manly Landlady — Excellent Dinner — Puppet-show of Whale-ships— Sharks on 
the Beach— WhittUng-Room— Philosophy of Whittling — Return to Nantucket, 
etc., etc 244 



LETTHRXXYI. ^ 

A 'Sconset Acquaintance — A Talk with a Sea-Captain Forty Years after he 
was chewed up by a Whale — The Harpooning and the turn of the Angry 
Monster upon his Enemies — The Marks of his Four Teeth — The After-History 
of the Crushed Mouthful — Six days to Port — Arrival at Peru — The Emperor's 
Physician — The Back-Country Doctor — Captain Gardiner's Invention of a 
Tandem Hammock— Ride over the Mountains between two Mules — Recov- 
ery after Six Weeks — Command resumed and Voyage prosecuted — Import- 
ant Considerations as to the American Whale Fishery, etc., etc 25T 



LETTER XXVII. 

Visit to the Light-house of Sancoty's Head — View of a Curious Lake — Sugges- 
tion as to a new Revenue for Nantucket — Aquatic Cow-yard to Milk the 
Whale— History of the first Whale ever captured — The Spermaceti Aristo- 
crat of the Ocean — Process of Killing and Preparing— Poetry of Indian life 

. on the Island— Recent Connection of Nantucket with the Mainland by Tele- 
graph, etc., etc 266 



LETTER XXVIII. 

To Invalid Morris— Morning at Brady's — His Reason for moving further up 
Broadway — Photograph of Dana and its uses — Bancroft, Dr. Potts, Russell 
Lowell, etc — Likeness of Lord Napier — Description of "Imperial Photo- 
graph " — Comments on Photography and Portrait Painting— A true Likeness 
and its Injustice— Suggestion of an Inquiry for Artistic Philosophy, etc.. 281 



LETTER XXIX. 

To Morris at Mobile — Out-door Luxury of Southern Climate—" Tiff's Ex- 
change " — Southern Noon-ing — New Orleans and its Chaotic Marvels — Shirt- 
sleeve Promenade — Recommendation to Transplant a New Orleans Fashion 
to Broadway — Invalid Advice — Caution as to Trifles, etc., etc 291 



Contents. 



LETTER XXX. 

^Pleasure of having a Friend at a Distance — Trip to Town and first Call for New- 
est Gossip — Bridal Reception, and re-beautiful-ness of a Retired Widow — 
Omnibus-Drive down Broadway — Petticoats doing Penance — New Fashion of 
Coat-Collars — Throats dressed differently — Beards — Boots — Hats — Dinner at 
Dietz's-Mrs. Hatcli at the Tabernacle— Morris in Florida, etc., etc 299 

LETTER XXXI. 

Starting of the Summer Boat on the Hudson — Forbidding a Neighbor the Prem- 
ises — Caprices of Climate, etc., etc 808 

LETTER XXXII. 

Prodigality of Spring— Blight of Evergreens — Pleasure of living in the country 
-Hog Liberty, etc., etc 

LETTER XXXIII. 

Discovery of a New Spring — Employment for Idle Day — Digging out a Hanging 
Rock — A Discovery — A Visit, etc., etc 820 

LETTER XXXIV. 

Ansv/er to many Inquiries — Corroboration of Experience -Mental Effect of 
Horseback-Riding — Unstableness of a Stable — Exercise with or without 
l''atigue — Insufficiency of Pedestrian Exercise — Philosophy of Uses of a Horse 
— Importance of the Use of a Saddle-Horse to Old Age — How much it affects 
Brain-work in all Professions — Advice to Convalescents, etc., etc 829 

LETTER XXXV. 

A dvice for Invalids, etc S8T 

LETTER XXXVI. 
Experiences of Friendship, etc 845 

LETTER XXXVII. 

Mouth made up for a Week's Feast on Physical Beauty— Journey to Springfield 
for the " Fair"— Miracles sold for cheap Tickets— Physiognomy of rural Mas- 
sachusetts — Energetic improvement of Springfield Street and Houses — Male 
Passions for Horse-talk — Promotion of Horse-dignity at Springfield — Descrip- 
tion of Races deferred, etc., etc 859 



Contents. xi 



LETTER XXXVIII. 

Second Letter— Taking the Opportunity to looli through a 'Wiser Man's Eyes- 
Drive to the Hippodrome— Visits to the Horses in their Stalls— Company of 
Good Observers— Horse " Hard-Times " and his Card— Beauty of the Peter- 
sham Morgan— Style of the Black Horse, " Lone Star "—Suitableness of Horse 
to his Rider— Perfecting of the Quadruped and Deteriorating of the Biped- 
Need of Reformation in the Shape and Condition of American Man— One 
Exception, etc., etc 365 

LETTER XXXIX. 

The Hippodrome on the Second Day— The Trotting-match— The Aspect of the 
Ci owd on the Course— Ethan Allen and Hiram Drew— Philosophy of fast Trot- 
ting—Portrait of a famous Yankee Jockey— Cavalcade of Gentlemen's equip- 
ages — Lack of Style in American Driving— Society on Wheels and Beauty of a 
Park Drive — The Equestrian Cavalcade with Lady-riders— Unsuitableness of 
Crinoline to the Side-saddle, etc., etc 874 



TRIP TO THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 



LETTER I . 

Unceremonious Departure— The Journey South— Glimpse of the Susquehanna 

Cloudless Welcome to Virginia — Digression to narrate a Story— Saw-Mill in 

the Woods— A Hoist into the Air unexpectedly— The Miller and the Interior 
of his Hut— His Death, that Night— The Scene of his Laying-out— Who he was 
etc., etc ^'^^ 

LETTER II. 

First Experience of eating a Persimmon— Suggestion as to Nature's Symbol for 
Secrecy— Chance for Cheap Living in " Ole Virginny "—Instance of Oblivious 
Life—What Good Blood may stagnate down to— Fight with the Guardian 
Dog— Interior of a Reduced Gentleman's Residence — Dried Apples pro- 
duced—Mrs. X, as seen through her Dirt— Virginia Lack of Yankee Curiosity, 
otc. ••... 991 

LETTER III. 

Drive through the Pine Woods— An old Chapel— The Craves of the Family of 
Washington's Mother— Copy of an Epitaph— The Blind Preacher— Female 
seclusion in Virginia— Disappointment as to their Horses— Excellent way of 
hitching Horses— Tandem of Cows— Carelessness of personal appearance 
in Virginia Gentlemen— Mistaken impression of a Fellow-traveller, etc. . . 401 



xii Contents. 



LETTER IT. 

Negro Happiness in Virginia — Persevering Politeness against Discouragement — 
Family's Slaves Moving West — Evening View of a Negro Cabin — Aunt Fanny, 
the Centenarian and the Black Baby— New kind of Negro Music — Pig-matins 
at Daylight — Chats with Negro Woodsmen — Virginia Supply of Black Walnut 
for Coffins — Adroit Negro Compliment — Family Graves on Plantation — Visit 
to the Hut of a Murderer's Widow 410 

LETTER V . 

Caught asleep — General Mint-julep before Breakfast — Virginian Refinements 
of good Eating — Reembarkation on the Rappahannock, for Fredericksburg — 
The River, along through King George County — Country-seats of the Car- 
ters, Tayloes and other well-known Names — Scene of George Washington's 
Boyhood — His Mother and her humble Cottage — His every-day Appearance 
and Character at Fredericksburg, when a Boy — Difference of the IBoy-ideal 
from that of a Man — A second Picture of the adolescent Washington, from 
sixteen to twenty — His first Visit to Belvoir and Intimacy with the Fairfaxes 
— Wish that a gifted Descendant of this Family would give us their Remem- 
brances of Washington — Fredericksburg itself and its Tomb and Cliapel — 
Snow, and Journey across to the Potomac, etc., etc., etc., 419 

LETTER VI. 

Valley between the Potomac and Rappahannock — Washington's Frequent Ride 
across the " Neck of Virginia " — His Personal Appearance, when a Young 
Man — ^Young Washington the Surveyor — A Chance Tableau of Contrasted 
Fairfaxes ani Planters — The Young Englishman on Board the Boat, and our 
Virginia Captain — The Captain's Outer Man compared with his Passenger's 
—His New Invention — The Reading of his Application for a Patent — The 
Young Englislaman's Self-sacrifice for Friendship — Parting of the well-trim- 
med Plant of a London Gentleman, and the George Washington " Run to 
Seed," etc., etc. .. 437 



LETTER VII. 

Charm of the Number Seven — The Nile among Periodicals — Virginia Tea-table 
Peculiarity — Virginia Fashion of Ornamental Trees — Talk with a Physician 
About Intermittents and Negroes — Fever and Ague something of a Bugbear 
— Prescription — A Neglected Bird — Superiority of wild Geese to tame— Cu- 
rious Restoration of a Virginia Church — Former and Present Standard of 
Manners — Mount Vernon from a Historical Point of View — Curious Docu- 
ment, etc., etc 447 



THE CONVALESCENT. 



-<«>- 



L E T T E K I. 

Advantage of Evergreen Trees — Swapping Hats— Billy Babcock, tlie Centena- 
rian—His Habits and Dress — His Memory of Wasliington — His Pension — 
Droll effect of meeting on the Road a given-away Suit of Old Clothes, etc., etc. 

January 7, 1855. 
Weather to sit out of doors with a book! April is 
reconnoitering. And I never so much realized, as to-day 
(though I have recorded it before), the wisdom and 
luxury of a home buried in evergreen trees. Without the 
ice in the river, there would be no necessity of knowing 
that it is not summer. Every particle of snow gone from 
the fields and mountains, and a sun so warm, that to the 
children exercising out of doors, the full shade of our 
groves of hemlocks and cedars is welcome ! The farmer, 
about here, is bothered with the luxuriant pertinacity of 
these evergreens. He thinks of them as Bombastes thought 
of Fuzbos : 

" He conquered all but Fuzbos — Fuzbos him ;" 

13 



14 The Convalescent. 

but, to grounds cultivated for beauty, such prodigal growth 
of trees, wl^ose foliage recognizes no winter, are a wealth 
and a blessing. To-dav, we look out of open "windows, 
upon a summer of both trees and temperature. 

I was called upon yesterday to remember an appeal to 
your patriotism, which I promised to make — you being a 
general and the object of appeal being a revolutionary sol- 
dier with whom I have lately swapped hats, with the 
underst-anding that your influence to procure him a pen- 
sion was to be " thrown in." As the hat I got by my bar- 
gain is a relic, having been worn by a revolutionary 
head while crossinof from its first to its second centurv, 
and two years beyond the crossing, I must be excused for 
giving the history of " our trade " rather circumstantially 
— the hat being thus made authentic by having its story 
told, and the wearer being brought to your charitable 
notice, " as agreed." 

My friend Torrey, the village blacksmith, had several 
times offered to " show me the beat" of the revolutionary 
soldier I visited and described in the Home Journal last 
summer. He declared that " old Babcock, up in the 
mountains," was " more of a cur'osity," for he could hold 
a stick in both hands and jump over it, at a hundred 
years old, and that was two years ago. He was " still 
full of fun and as sharp as a 'coon," though quite a vagrant 
in his habits, and going to and fro, between here and 



Billy Babcock, the Centenarian. 15 

Jersey, as he could find temporary work, or as lie took the 
whim. Five or six generations of his descendants were 
scattered along through the mountains (the old man 
counted them last at one hundred and sixty-five) but 
they were all poor, and he was still homeless and thriftless. 
His one steady idea seemed to be to get a pension, as he had 
served six years in the revolutionary army, and had been in 
the battle of Monmouth and the battle of Stony Point, and 
was wounded at Monmouth. The diflaculty lay in his having 
left, the army " without any writing to show for it," though 
he did it to work in the mountain-forge, back of West 
Point, where he was a journeyman when the war begun, 
and where he was sent for again, to help cast cannon balls 
for the army. I was interested in the story, as Torrey's 
hammer emphasized it on the heels of my mare, and pro- 
mised to give the old man a kind welcome when he should 
come. 

One bright morning, accordingly, his name was sent up 
to me. Torrey had been too busy to leave his shop, bnt ano- 
ther of my village cronies, Chatfield, the tanner, had under- 
taken to show the old man the way. He sat in the library, 
when I went in, directly under a btist of venerable Tasso — 
a closely-shaved and pinched-faced little old man, under a 
heavily-bearded old patriarch — and my first thought, I 
must own, was a wonder that so beautiful and needful 
a drapery, for the features of age, could ever be refused its 



16 The Convalescent. 

natural growth and office. A veil of snowy white had 
been given by God to that little toothless mouth and to the 
stringy wrinkles of that repulsive chin and throat, and yet 
with the cost perpetual, and pains daily and vexatious, 
Nature's unceasing effort to put it on were resisted 1 

"A bite and a glass of suramat" had preceded me, and 
my visitor was lively and talkative. His hearing and sight 
were apparently as good as ever, and in quickness of rgply 
he certainly excelled most men, young or old, of bis class 
of life. I began conversation rather jokingly, but be was 
soon "down upon me," as my neighbor said, "like a thou- 
sand of brick." Hilarity and imperturbable good-nature 
seemed to have constant possession of him. He had no 
reserves. Some allusion was made to his favorinof one lea: 
more than the other in his movements; and he ascribed it 
to a rheumatism, got by sleeping " out on the road the 
other night" (in November) "after a glass too much." 
He said he knocked at all the doors as he went along, and 
asked for a night's lodging, and they " passed him on " 
with their " no room, go to the next house !" till he was 
tired. So he lay down under a wall ; and " it wouldn't 
have hurt him, if it hadn't sprung up cohl in the night, and 
froze r In this homeless habit of wanderino-, as in the 
making of baskets, which is his resource, when he can find 
nothing better to do, he seemed to show gipsy blood. 

The questions we naturally put to him concerning Gene- 



Swapping Hats. IT 

ral Washington (of whom he told us nothing except that 
he saw him every day for years), brought up the " pension " 
matter, and he stated his case — urging it much more 
strenuously when he found I had a General among my 
acquaintances. Seeing his hat, which he had thrown into 
the corner behind the door on entering the library, I took 
it up while he was talking, and inquired into its history. 
He had bought it in his ninety-ninth year, and worn it ever 
since — now three years. It had evidently been sat upon 
and slept upon, and used for the receiving and conveying 
away of potatoes and cold victuals — the shape long since 
gone, if it ever had one, and the band supplied by a piece 
of coarse twine. It was perhaps a " two shilling felt," to 
begin with ; but the honor it had had, in covering a head 
while it stepped into its second century, gave it a value — to 
say nothing of the wear-out it had received, upon a brain 
whose boyish recklessness and jollity a hundred years had 
failed to sober or make sorry ! Oh, I wanted that hat ! 
Stepping into the entry, I brought him my Idlewild broad- 
brim, with its spacious silk band — a hat, the first glance at 
which *' warranted the man to own a cow " — and proposed 
a " swap." It was amusing to see the cunning old chap 
assume a value for his hat immediately on finding it was 
wanted, and dodge all admission that he was making 
a good bargain. He only agreed, finally, on condition of 
my '* speaking to my friend the General about his pension.** 



18 The Convalescent. 

So never come to Idlewild, mj dear Morris, or venture to 
look at the old hat (which now surmounts the bust of 
John Quincj Adams in the hall), until yon have done 
your possible with the secretary of war, for Billy Babcock 
and his revolutionary claims. 

But I was indebted to the old man, shortly after, for a 
sudden retrospect, which, I fear, I can hardly make inter- 
esting to you — the contrast and grotesqueness of k de- 
pending very much on the associations it awakened in my 
own memory. Driving to Newburgh in the afternoon, we 
met him, at a sudden turn of the road. He had been 
down with a load of baskets (eight miles, on foot), and 
was returning to the mountains — toddling jauntily along 
with his stick, but the mud and other signs showing that 
he had stopped to rest when quite too happy to mind 
where. He was dressed from head to foot in a suit of my 
own clothes which I had given him ; and though it was 
funny, of course, to see my coat and trowsers going to 
Newburgh with a load of baskets, and coming back " so," 
there was still, for me, a remoter reach of association in 
the spectacle. The suit chanced to be the sole memorial of 
that " dandyism " of twenty years ago, the pickled memory 
of which is still carefully preserved by my brother editors, 
and used for the acid to their criticisms. Both coat and 
trowsers were of London make, in 1836 — relics that had 
seen a deal of sly wear as old clothes in my rainy-day 



A Suit of Old Clothes. 19 

wood-choppings and brook-clearings, but the fancy cut and 
decoration of which had hitherto prevented their being 
given away. There was as much fun as anything else in 
bestowing them upon the ragged and merry old basket- 
maker. But, by dint of long keeping and tumbling over, 
they had insensibly become the furniture of my remem- 
brance of gay life in London ; and to meet them now, sud- 
denlj^, on the road, zig-zag-ing about on legs and arms a 
hundred years old, and bound to finish their career in un- 
housed dirt and vicissitude — there was a mingled drollery 
and contradictoriness in the confused impression, which 
made me both lauo-h and sfrow thouo-htful. If there must 
be reappearances of one's coats and trowsers, it would be 
pleasanter to see them in their cleanly and decent wont — 
not spattered with mud while they are honored by longei 
wear — and if I had foreseen the venerableness of these 
after-walks of mine, I certainly should have selected the 
pantaloons of a plainer period. You see my old-clothes 
moral, I hope. 

My friend, the merry centenarian, has called on me once 
since. He was finding it too cold in the mountains, and 
was going over into Jersey for the winter. My velvet 
facings and silk braids had proved good material for 
" swap," and he had parted with all of my toggery except 
the hat — the pillow-and-cushion duties of this last, how- 
ever, having rendered its previous history a matter of pure 



20 The Convalescent. 

faith. He was as blithe and quick-witted as ever, and his 
gaiety — patriarch as he is — was positively infectious. It 
is the elixir of his unfailing vitality, I am certain. He has 
no idea of dying, and is " coming round in the spring, to 
see if that General has got his pension fixed." So keep 
the matter in mind. 

We have had another strange visitor here — but my 
letter is long enough for these short days. Adieu. 

Yours, 

P.S. Jan. 1 0. — Let me record that two steamboats passed 
down the river yesterday, and a sloop to-day, though the 
ice, which has suddenly vanished with the rain, has been 
dotted with skaters for a month. 



LETTER II. 

Spontaneousness in Writing— An Adventure in Riding— Mounted at one time 
on a Horse and a Cow — A Story by a neighbor Fisherman — Catching a Snap- 
ping-turtle— Ward's Adventures— The Difficulties of Winter Pilotage of 
Steamboats, before the Railroad on the Hudson— Bald Eagle on the Ice, 
etc., etc. 

January 2*7, 18o5. 
"New events and fresh information are raore interesting 
than essay- writing, I believe, even if the events are small 
and the information homely. It is this supposition (with 
an eye only to the preference of our readers, and the pro- 
bability of interesting them) which, week after week, 
makes me throw aside a first half-page of a speculating or 
criticising " leader," and fall to describing, instead, some 
new phase of my every-day life in the country. I am 
ready to cease being thus autobiographic, when the new 
incidents and fresh information give out. I never send you 
one of those homespun letters, in fact, without quite a per- 
suasion that it will be the last. But life always seems to 
ke^p new, somehow ; and a present hour always seems to 
me worth any two of the past or the future. "Yours to 
command," however. My hope of interesting, is by mak- 
ing this column differ, in case of its failing to excel. I will 

21 



22 The Convalescent. 

go oftener to town, and ride in omnibuses and dissipate at 
parties, whenever those rides are more amusing (say) than 
the one I describe to-day, or whenever city brains are better 
worth borrowing from than the brains of our country 
droppers in — such (say) as my friend the fisherman's, of 
whose water-life on the Hudson, as he gossipped it over 
our blazing wood-fire last evening, I will jot down an 
item or two while I remember it. 

And now to my hobnail commonplaces — more sure of a 
pleasant understanding after this " strictly confidential " 
apology 

You may wonder how a zeal in our common service, 
should add to my experiences the new sensation of being 
mounted upon a cow! But this, and a ride upon a camel 
in Asia Minor, are two of this planet's possible emotions 
with which I shall not pass to another star unacquainted. 
It was a trifle of a surprise — coming as it did after that 
hardest day of in-door drudgery which least prepares one 
for perilous adventure. You know my weekly crisis, the 
Thursday evening's mail — closing at Newburgh at six, and 
inevitably to be reached, storm or starlight, by the " final 
copy for the printer." I had scribbled, up to the last 
moment, as usual, hopped into the saddle at dusk, gal- 
lopped the four miles rather nervously for fear of missing 
the inexorable bag, reached it, and was trotting leisurely 
home. Tt was a cloudy night — dark as half-past six had 



An Adventure in Riding. 23 

ever the liberty to be — when I reached the covered bridge 
across the mouth of the Moodna. 

The small and single lamp, usually making darkness 
visible at the far end of this rickety old tunnel, was not yet 
lit. The outline of an entrance, under an arch of hopeless 
black, was all I could distinguish — a promise of emergence 
to light on the other side, which required the faith of a 
gimlet. My horse took a sniff of suspicion, and half 
bolted ; and as he had thrown me over his head a week or 
two before, and that was my first experience as a one-horse 
missile, I hesitated a second before putting on the compul- 
sion. In went both heels, however — for it was a bitter cold 
night, and my lungs are not the customers for winter air 
without exercise — and in spi'ung Sir Archy upon the 
unseen planks, I loosed the rein — instinct being more 
to be trusted than reason (I have always observed) in 
" feeling one's way." The smothered sound of the hoofs 
upon the never-swept carpet of lumber-dust and manure, 
came down in stifled echoes fi'om the roof. Paff ! patFl 
paff ! — which side we should bang against, and what hole 
of the remembered short planks my dancing animal would 
back into in rearing, I could only guess. A sudden 
plunge I Half a leap to go over something — but the 
twitched curb (with the flash across my mind that it was 
the warped flooring out of place) balked the eflfort, and the 
next moment we rose into the air — to explanatory music I 



24 The Coxvalescext. 

The gasp of a cow told the story, while the balance of 
uncertainty, as to whether I was to fall backwards or for- 
wards, gave me leisure to listen. With the ten legs under 
me actuated by three different conceptions of the crisis — 
the cow cross ways, the horse for proceeding, and I for 
retreating — there was a very miscellaneous scramble, for 
an instant. My horse fortunately recovered his footing 
without a fall — ^but whether we had slid to earth over the 
horns or the tail of the animal that had lifted us, the dis- 
creet belly of my horse shows to the inquisitive daylight no 
sign. As the reclining cow commonly rises first behind, 
the declivity for us was doubtless towards the head — 
though the improbability that a gentleman and his horse 
would ever travel over the horns of old Smith's cow, the 
most vicious animal in the neighborhood, without a scratch, 
makes it likely again that we dismounted over the tail 
Either way " very happy," of course ; for, with so close a 
shave upon a coi^-tastrophe, I should not stand upon cere- 
mony in the dark. 

With my neighbor, last evening, the conversation natu- 
rally fell upon the perils in our daily experience ; and he, 
having passed his life (and accumulated a very snug pro- 
perty) by varying his farming with shad fishing in the sea- 
son, steamboat-piloting when they run through the ice in 
the winter, stopping of drift timber and shooting of ducks, 
has a truly amphibious knowledge of the Hudson and its 



Catching a Snapping-turtle. 25 

land and water liabilities. I must say I listened to him 
with great interest, and picked here and there a valuable 
hint for my own using; though the question occurs, natu- 
fally, whether the readers of the Home Journal^ not being 
river-rustics themselves, will be as much entertained. But 
i shall try to be brief. 

I silently pocketed a caution as to my next summer's 
swimming, while the talk fell upon snapping-turtles 
(among the dangers of the neighborhood), and Ward 
gave us an account of catching one. He was out in his 
decoy-boat after ducks, and had chanced to shoot a wild 
goose, that he left to float among the sedges till he should 
have leisure to pick him up. Meantime, lying flat in his 
boat, and watching through the straw bulwark for the 
game, he observed the dead goose hohhing under occasion- 
ally. The water was clear, and, with a little closer look, 
he saw, that, to the broken leg of the goose, which hung 
down, a large snapping-turtle was reaching up, and trying 
to get the right hitch to pull the dead bird to the bottom. 
Ward quietly floated that way, stripped up his sleeve, and, 
with a sudden pluck, caught the snapper by the middle 
(out of reach of his head), and threw him into the boat. 
He was about the size of a chair-cushion, and made " great 
soup." Happy river, of course, that has such live succu- 
lents for poor folks — but, to gentlemen that swim partly 
under water, the risk of being nibbled at by an animal 

2 



26 The Coxyalescext. 

wliose bite does not loosen even when its head is cut oiF, 
makes it one kind of " wild o-ame" too manv ! 

Ward himself is a native growth of " American," in 
which I take a patriotic delight. The country's reliance, 
for energy in daily matters and for resource and courage 
in emergencies, is in the likes of him — few though they 
be, and yet constituting the centre that holds together the 
whole wheel of our national energy. His life is to mind 
his business. He says little — ^his ideas always keep- 
ing ahead of his words. What practical knowledge he 
needed, he has " come at" by a shorter cut than b(X)ks, 
having had no education, and yet doing everything with a 
"knack" that works like science. At present he is build- 
ing hiraself a boat, "just to pass a spare month of the 
winter," and he thinks no more of that untaught exercise 
of his ingenuity than an Irishman of peeling a fresh po- 
tato. With his early savings (as a sloop-skipper and 
steamboat pilot), be bought the river farm of which Idle- 
wild was a part, and has since turned everything to ac- 
count within reach — supplying Newburgh and New York 
with shad and bass in immense quantities by his skillful 
hauling and netting, growing the best fruit, stopping the 
drift-timber after the freshets, killing more wild game than 
all the other neighbors together, raising famous grain, 
breeding the best fowls and pigs, and — taking summer 
boarders. With all this variety of tribute-levying upon 



Ward's Adventures. 27 

air, earth and water, Ward is as soft-spoken and as quiet- 
moving as the most indolent man in the world, and, among 
his neighbors, he stands for the most simply honest and 
kind-hearted of men, who knows his own rights pretty 
well, but is willing to help everybody else to theirs. 

But Ward's plums and peaches are not the only " larg- 
est of their kind," for which he could take the premium. 
As he sat down by our hickory-fire for an evening's chat, 
I could not but confess I had rarely seen, out of England, 
such a specimen of stock for a farmer to be proud of as 
the well-developed, handsome daughter, of sixteen, who 
had come in with him, and to whose lap my children ran 
with their dolls in the opposite corner. I had admired 
her fine proportions and energetic movement as she skated 
on the river a day or two before ; but her frank and truth- 
ful manners, liberally-moulded features, and joyous expres- 
sion of health and happiness, made her show even better 
in a drawing-room ; and I patriotically wished, as I com- 
pared her with the slices of American loveliness princi- 
pally looked to for the continuation of our country, that 
such whole girls were plentier. 

To return to river dangers, however. 

Ward thought he had run one or two risks of drowning, 
even in such small waters as the Hudson. He was once 
made " almost too sea-sick to hold on," here in this High- 
land bay, by being sent to the topmast of a sloop, in one 



28 The Convalescent. 

of our mountain hurricanes. A small boy, then, and with 
only the rope he had hugged his way up on, to cling to, 
the pitching and lurching of the sloop, which was all but 
upset with every blast, threw him about like the knot on 
the end of a whip-lash, and disturbed his breakfast. But 
his nearest approach to " giving over breathing with a job 
half done," was in trying to get up a barrel of salt shad 
from the bottom of the river. He had been sent with an- 
other young man, by his "boss," to take it to a customer, 
in a boat, and they had accidentally rolled it overboard in 
deep soundings. It was in the early spring, *' before the 
water was any way pleasant," but he off with everything 
but his trowsers, tied a rope round his waist, and dived — 
the other young man agreeing to pull him up when he 
should telegraph by a kick that he had got hold. A bar- 
rel of fish is a heavy thing to lift, under water or out of 
\t, but he got hold of the two ends ; and then the trouble 
was to wait to be pulled up. He hung on, though it was 
awkward landing it, even after he got it to the top. How 
near drowning he was, of course he don't now know. He 
would not care to be any nearer to it, however, for that 
money's worth of fish, 

"We had some lesser gossip about snakes and drift-tim- 
ber, ice-cracks and snow-floods, and then we got Ward 
upon experiences that will be of more interest to the pub- 
lic at large — his winter-pilotings of the steamboats that 



Difficulties of Winter Pilotage. 29 

made their passages while sleighs were running on the 
river. 

The railroad has lessened the urgency of the demand 
for the winter navigation of the Hudson, but it could al- 
ways be done " when it would pay." The damage to 
boats was very great. A gang of ship carpenters was 
kept waiting on the dock, both at Newburgh and New 
York, to commence repairs at the moment of arrival. A 
pipe was arranged to turn steam out upon the wheels, and 
this melted the ice and dried the wood immediately, so 
that the carpenters could handle them. They never lost a 
passage from breakage of paddle-boxes, though they were 
sometimes terribly shattered. The railroad was then build- 
ing, and the demand for freight of tools and materials, 
and passage of workmen, was very great ; so that Ward's 
boat, the Highlander, tried to make two passages in the 
twenty-four hours — down in the day time and up at night 
— but the ice in the dark proved too much for them. 
Another boat was then put on (the Utica), and they 
crossed each other with day passages. 

From the narrowness of the river, at the pass through 
the Highlands, the ice always closed again where the boat 
had made a channel, and was often crowded together and 
piled up " so as to look rather ugly." The Highlander 
was once stuck, and remained two weeks frozen fast, just 
opposite West Point; and she was only got out, at last, by 



30 The Convalescent. 

blowing up the ice around her with bomb-shells. The 
" standing from under," when the slabs rained down, after 
those explosions, was "spry work." 

I supposed that the sharper the boat, or the more like a 
■wedge — with the wheels far aft, so that she could take ad- 
vantage of the cracks in the ice — the better. But it was 
quite the contrary. They needed the length of the boat for 
a lever to make her wheels act short on the bow, and then, 
having once entered a crack (which could not be followed 
far without bending away from their course), they could 
manao-e to break out of it. When ice was thick enouo^h 
to bear an ox-team, as it was most of the time, the only 
way to get through it was to crush it down with the weight 
of the boat. They had a false bow put on, therefore, cased 
in copper, which would enable them to slide up over the 
edge, with the force of their headway. This would crush 
it under, for a short distance, and then they would back, 
gefe on another head of steam, and charge again. It was 
sometimes a long and tedious job, breaking through the 
winding narrows of the Highlands in this way, and there 
was danger, always, of letting the boat stop long enough 
for the ice to tighten around her. 

Passengers jumped on board almost anywhere, with a 
projecting plank jutting out, while they slackened a little. 
Freight was taken on board, and landed, by horse-teams 
coming out to them on the ice. It was droll, sometimes, 



Bald Eagle on the Ice. 31 

to be going along through a narrow channel with the 
sleigh-bells keeping pace on the ice alongside — like a sail- 
ing and trotting-niatch on the same element. The busi- 
ness was profitable, as the railway people could afford to 
pay very high for freight, which they would otherwise 
have to draw with teams over the back country. Then 
the Cold-Spring forge was casting bomb-shells, etc., for the 
Mexican war ; and that heavy freight could hardly be got 
to New York at all, without a boat. At one time -there 
was such a pressure for these war materials that they were 
obliged to make extra passages on Sundays. 

Ward mentioned one of our well-known neighbors who 
has lately taken to a new amusement. He seems to be 
fond of sitting on a cake of ice, any sunny noon, and float- 
ing down the river, just in front of us. This idler — a hald 
eagle^ and the largest remembered in this part of the coun- 
try — has haunted Idlewild for a year past, and his circlings 
of swoop around the projecting eminence on which our 
house stands, are the admiration of man, woman and child, 
for some distance. He lives, as is well known, by taking 
tribute of the fish-hawk, from whom he receives the fish 
just dived for, on presenting his hill ; but to do this he 
must be on the wing and ready to pounce down, any in- 
stant, with his superior swiftness — so the ice-rafting is pro- 
bably but a royal amusement. The nest of this monstrous 
eagle (larger than any goose, Ward says), is some- 



32 The Convalescent. 

where on the peak of the Storm King, whence he sails 
down upon us, with a turn up the bend of the ravine, by a 
propulsion which I cannot easily understand. It must be 
"od-ic force," or the exercise of my motto ( Will is might), 
for he stirs not a wing, and the three miles are done like 
an arrow-flight. Eagles are sacred among sportsmen, and 
this one has evidently no fear of being shot; though Ward, 
whose o;un is inevitable, said it was hard not to brino^ him 
down, sometimes, when his whke head and snowy tail 
sailed along so temptingly within reach. Of course I 
plead — spare the King ! 

The ice has a very flattering way of making a man's 
farm seem larger — extending out Idle wild some acres into 
the Hudson — and my boy, Grinnell, who is skating just 
now, on this apparently new permanency of meadow, ex- 
pects me down every moment to witness his progress in 
the art. I would resume it myself — for, being " split up a 
good way," as the boys used to say of my long legs, I was 
among the fast ones on Frog Pond, in Latin-school days — 
but, like a churn that makes no butter by gently being 
carried along, I have a liver that requires an inward exer- 
cise beyond skates. Churning and horse-trotting for but- 
ter and bile ! So, a look at my boy's new accomplishment, 
and then to the saddle, to take a churn. Yours. 



LETTER III. 

Winter Diseases — Foliage in White, after a Light Snow— Capture of a 'Possum 
— Chase in the Snow, witli Bare Legs— 'Possum's Habits when caught, etc. 

January, 1855. 
Winter is seizing us all by tlie throat, in this part of the 
country. The sudden blanketings and un-blanketings of 
the hills — snows and thaws in wonderfully complete alter- 
nation — affect the Highland health. One of my stoutest 
neighbors, a river sloop-man used to all manner of expo- 
sure, died yesterday of the prevailing bronchitis. My 
family table assembles a half-dozen varied influenzas — a 
putting out of tune of its usual accord of voices, which, to 
one who relies upon it for his only music, is quite an in- 
terruption of comfort. 

On ray favorite curative principle of counter-irritation, I 
started off, with a stuffed head, for a sharp trot in the 
snow-storm, a day or two ago, and so chanced to see one 
of those private theatricals with which Nature makes our 
country entertainments correspond to the dramatic season 
in the city. I had been gone two hours among the hills, 
and the sky and my raucous membranes had meantime 
been clearing up together. It had stopped snowing and I 

2* 83 



34 The Convalescent. 

had stopped snuffling; and the sun was setting with a 
glow in the west, of which the blood in my veins felt like 
a rosy partaker. Slacking rein as I entered the gate, and 
removing a pair of " green goggles" (excellent uglinesses 
with which to protect weak eyes from the patter as well 
as the glare of the snow in riding), I became suddenly 
aware of a scene of extraordinary beauty. The soft and 
feathery snow had so completely foliaged the trees that 
they looked full and shady, as in June. The woods on 
either side had the expression of leafy impenetrableness 
which enchants the forever-refuge-seeking eye ; the mea- 
dows and slopes were carpeted with the evenness of a 
lawn ; and over all was spread the warm color of the 
kindling sunset. It was midsummer, 'performed in white — 
its burden of leaves all there, and its press and crowd of 
flowers inimitably copied in snowflakes. The picturesque 
and beautiful half mile from the river-gate to our door — 
over meadow and brook, and along the wooded terraces 
and rocky precipices of the glen — will never be more su- 
perb in summer than as I saw it — (riding alone, too, a 
most unwilling millionaire, to have such a wealth of splen- 
dor all to myself) — in the middle of winter. 

(What tempting subjects are these glories of Nature 
with no events to them — so thrilling to the beholder and 
so tiresome at second-hand ! I have indulged this time, 
but give me credit for twenty resistances.) 



Capture of a 'Possum. 35 

The event of the past month, to my children, has been 
a shirt-tail chase and capture of a 'possum, in the pitiless 
snow of midnight, a fortnight ago, by the Vice-President 
of these united stables and hen-roosts, Sam Bell. The nar- 
rative of the affair, in Bell's purest of Know-nothing dia- 
lect, would be worth Hackett's coming to hear — but I 
must confine myself to such mere mention of the circum- 
stance as will sufRce to introduce to you our patriotic ad- 
dition to the family — Native American, and found nowhere 
else, as the 'possum is accredited to be. Waked up at 
night, in his farm-cottage under the hill, by a stir among 
the chickens. Bell, it appears, went to the door (in his in- 
tegument No. 1) to see what was the matter. It was a 
bright and bitter cold night, after the clearing up of a 
snow storm ; and, with the opening of the door, he saw 
some dark animal take up the line of its retreat towards the 
woods. To almost any gentleman (especially from a for- 
eign countrj^) there would be little doubt as to the out- 
weighing of the comparative attractions — a warm wife in 
the bed he had just left, or a naked-legged rush, through 
the snow, after a wild animal. The thinking that can be 
done in a second, however, by one of our prompt and un- 
chance-losing Yankees, is wonderful to know. The mys- 
tery of a month of missing chickens and sucked eggs, was 
explained to Bell by that dark line drawn over the snow — 
a fox or a wild-cat, as he took it to be. The jumping mo- 



36 The Convalescent. 



n 



tion of " the critter " suggested to him, instantly, that, in 
deep drifts, he could catch one that would outrun him on 
hard ground ; and, grabbing the first stick from the wood- 
pile, he " after him." The snow " felt ugly up round 
above his knees," and it was heavy running, though he 
thought he was helped some by having no trowsers ; but 
he gained on the animal, overtook, and "got a lick at 
him." Whether he had dropped dead or was stopping to 
spring back, he did not know, but there was the black 
lump still as death, on the snow before him. It wasn't a 
pleasant place to stop and think, though it was awk'ard 
putting a hand out to take hold of a wild varmint in the 
dark ; but he caught sight of something like a tail, made a 
plunge at it, and " had him," safe off the ground. It turned 
out to be a 'possum (an animal, as you know, that always 
drops and pretends to be dead when it is close-pressed), 
and Bell carried him back to the house, put a string round 
his neck, tied him to the door-post, and went to bed — first 
raking open the coals a little, of course, and getting on a 
dry shirt. 

Installed behind the stable, in the box that Buchanan 
Read's bust came over in (an apartment with an associa- 
tion at his disposal, of course), the 'possum is now "one 
of us " — a daily visit to him being, for our little people, 
among the periodicities of the morning. It is a little tan- 
talizing, perhaps, to see "good society" (the hen-roost and 



'Possum's Habits when Caught. 3t 

cWckens) so absurdly little beyond the limit of his chain, 
but he bears it with the can't-help-it-ism of a philosopher. 
You would think, to see him looking from that round hole 
(a side-door, added to Read's apartment, for his conve- 
nience) that those safe chickens whom he is beholding so 
tranquilly and humbly, were not of the natural species for 
which nature had given him an appetite — the chickens 
(vice versa) having no more terror at Ids presence than at 
the child's mufif, which he closely resembles. How won- 
derful is civilized resignation at contiguity to forbidden 
food ! 

With vile head, and a tail like a rat's, the opossum's 
body is a superb mass of light grey fur. His taste in food 
is fastidious, and he is said to taste (to others) like the 
tenderest of fresh young pork. This one, we regret to 
find, is a male — the she-'possum being certainly the most 
remarkable female in the animal world, and of habits (as a 
mother) very curious to study. In these days of finding 
wives too expensive, it is interesting to turn to nature, and 
see what is expected of husbands upon instinct. The she- 
'possum is herself a house, herself a carriage, herself a 
doctor. With the providing of neither of these three ex- 
pensive articles is her mate burdened. The " abdominal 
pouch," Katural History tells us, " is the residence of the 
young, for the infancy period after their birth, and they go 
in and out," at their happy pleasure. To go any distance, 



38 The Convalescent. 



1 



or ascend a tree, they are " taken by her on the back, 
where they cling to the fur, and likewise hold on by en- 
twining their little prehensile tails with that of the mo- 
ther." " Wonderful medical virtues are attributed to the 
tail of the female opossum." When we add, to this lux- 
ury of auto- furnishing in his mate, that the 'possum can 
siq^port himself by either end — hanging to a tree by his 
" prehensile tail," and swinging his head in tail-like idleness 
to the summer air — a professed author, at least, might sigh 
over a comparison of gifts and privileges ! 

The drops that have been to the sky to be purified are 
coming down in countless flakes — cold, separate and pure 
— to try another course of duty on this defiling earth, min- 
gle again, and wait for another evaporation. Or, as Bell 
expressed the same bit of news just now, " it snows feather 
beds." Through this crov^'d of life-resuming spirits — 
through these feathers yet unconfined by ticking and pil- 
low-cases — I must gallop to Newburgh with my letter for 
the mail. Time to be oflf. 

Yours, pen and horse, 



LETTER IV. 

The Highlands, with the Hudson frozen over — 'Difference of Scenery without 
Water — Sleigh-ride over the Ice — West Points Cozzens's—Dell-Monell and 
Font-Anna — Tedium of Winter. 

February 2, 1866. 
For a realizing sense of what the world would be with- 
out woman — what strength and sublimity are, that is to 
say, without grace and loveliness — you have only to come 
and see the Highlands without the Hudson. I thought 
for the mere sake of contrast, to-day (February 2), that I 
would drive to the middle of the river in my sleigh, and 
follow the familiar steamboat track to West Point. It is 
frozen solid from shore to shore, and the ice, like the hill- 
sides, covered with snow, so that it is one bleak and drear 
surface from the peak over Anthony's Nose to the crown 
of the Storm-Kino^, with no sia^n of that lono^ vallev's hav- 
ing ever been blessed with running water. 

Now, in this most celebrated spot in world for picturesque 
beauty, you have no idea what a difference it makes! 
I went, expecting, at least, some new impression of gran- 
deur and sublimity. But the mountains, which, in sum- 
mer, are grand and sublime, looked only big and ugly to- 

89 



40 The Convalescent. 

day ! The height and boldness above, without the con- 
trast with the loveliness below, were simply unsightly. 
For sheer lack of eye-water, after gazing at the Storm- 
King's "ugly mug," I turned my eyes over to " UnderclifF," 
and conjured up to my imagination the vastly better-look- 
ins: face of our friend the General. 

There is a curious sensation, however, in driving over 
such a wide and trackless level — something, probably, very 
like to Arctic exploration. Merely taking the West Point 
Hotel for a landmark, we steered for it, for four miles, 
over a trackless plain of snow ; but the usual speed of 
Lady Jane seemed of no manner of use without road-side 
objects by which to measure it. We seemed overcoming 
no distance, though the plump trotting-haunches over the 
whipple-tree did their handsomest as usual — a type, I dare 
say, of the monotony there would be, after all, in success 
without obstacle. 

On reaching Cold Spring, we struck into a well-tracked 
highway between it and West Point — the cadets and sol- 
diers seeming to make a favorite walk of crossing the 
river, and pleasure sleighs and loaded teams plying busily 
backward and forward. To my countryfied eyes, after 
the winter among plain folks, the population of uniforms, 
erect figures, and military countenances, made a pleasant 
variety. It was one of the coldest days of the year, by 
the way, and how these young " combatants," with their 



Dell-Monell and Font-Anna. 41 

extremely narrow and unprotective coat-tails, managed to 
keep wann — two-thirds of those we saw being without 
any outer garment — perplexed my sympathies to under- 
stand. 

To reach West Point in half an hour from my own 
door was very delightful, and I had thus a foretaste of what 
the drive will be when the proposed road is finished along 
the shore. It seemed queer to be jingling our Idlewild 
sleigh-bells along past Cozzens's — a spot only accessible by 
a steamboat excursion in summer — and mv sense of neigh- 
borhood is greatly enriched by it. The two great hotels, 
I must say, however, with their wildernesses of closed win- 
dows, looked very lonely and unnatural. The govern- 
ment, I observed, keeps the walks well cleared over the 
parade-ground, and we met a platoon of snow-shovellers, in 
uniform, with wooden weapons on shoulder, marching 
under the command of a corporal, to some new-drifted 
Sebastopol. There wns also a considerate road laid out 
across the river to Garrison's dock, the safe line between 
the air-holes indicated by cedar bushes stuck in the snow. 
I must not forget one consoling glimpse which I got, of 
the possibility of water — the sun flashing upon the crystal 
cascades of Dell-Monell, and gleaming down through that 
wild ravine like a staircase of silver. I glanced also at the 
coy rock-spring of Font-Anna, which we lingered over in 
our excursions last summer, but, whatever flow may be 



42 Tpie Convalescent. 

hidden at its heart, the snow over its lovely lip looked 
pitilessly unyielding. 

The fishes in the river, of course, are finding it dark — 
their world roofed in and covered thickly with double 
crusts of snow — and I presume, if desires can be prayers, 
that they are praying for sunshine and open sky. I am 
sure I join in the prayer. How w-elcome the spring will 
be ! How delightful to see earth and water again, out of 
doors ! And as to summer and heat, flowers, verdure and 
foliao-e — they seem dreams of sweet impossibilities. Mean- 
time, however, let us not be ungrateful for tlie already length- 
ening days, and, with the awful prophecy over our heads of 
the march northward of the summer plague — its next stride 
possibly from Norfolk to New York — let us thank God for 

pure air, even with winter. 

Yours. 



L E T T E R V . 

Use of Love for Dumb Aaimals — Quinty and his Doom — A stray Dog and his 
Habits — His death — Dog Insanity, etc. 

February, 1855. 

For those whose destiny it is to die with love or money 
unspent (my case), there is a certain '^ small change," of 
afFectionateness which can only be expended, I find, on 
dumb animals. Hence my perhaps too frequent call upon 
you to be interested in the quadrupeds of Idle wild — these 
recipients of what is left over of victuals and tenderness, 
forming a part (more or less) of the life I endeavor to 
describe to you. I appealed to your sympathy last 
week for our newly domesticated 'possum. In the letter 
befoi'e me I must mention another " varmint " or two — 
quadruped event, just now, being our principal news and 
stir. You have human event enough to occupy you, I 
know. But the basement story of your heart (intended 
for the brute creation and kept closed in city life), requires 
airino- now and then. So come down from " hio-h human- 
ity," and un-shutter to us, for a minute or two, on the 
ground floor. It will rest you. 

Half-past ten, January 30, and a bitter bright, night — 

43 



44 The Convalescent. 

but, before narrating to you the death in the moonlight 
(which I have hard work not to turn into a poem, by the 
way), I should explain why our sensibilities, that night, 
were somewhat more than usual on the alert. 

Our " pup," Quinty (Quintessence-of-ugliness being his 
name, but Quinty for shortness), had been for several days 
missino-. We had not felt altoo-ether comfortable about it, 
aside from his loss as a play-fellow — for there was a pos- 
sibility that our family discipline (to make sure of his let- 
ting alone '"'•that ^possum^^), had exceeded the bounds of 
reason. I had, myself, a reproachful misgiving or two, 
and the children took Quinty's part altogether — though he 
was a terrier, " worst kind," and I had done it with a consci- 
entious look at his " ug-lv mufr," and a far reaching: view 
of the temptation after dark, and his probable forgetfulness 
of himself and his obligations, in a tete-a-tete. At any rate, 
after being whipped prospectively, at the door of the 'pos- 
sum's house — merely to establish the connection in his mind 
between whip and 'possum — the pup had " quit." Search 
through the neighborhood was in vain, and he had been 
gone, now three days, mournfully justified and regretted. 

But, to proceed with the narrative. 

Half- past ten, and we were sitting over the embers of 
the dining-room fire, a slice or two of boiled turkey on the 
table, and the cares of the day behind us. There was a 
moan outside. We ran each to .a window, and looked out 



A Stray Dog and his Habits. 45 

— clear as noon day it seemed to be, in the intense bril- 
liancy of the moon, and the frozen ground sparkling in the 
light — but nothing to be seen. We had concluded it must 
be the fat cook with her nightmare, or my own mare dream- 
ing in the stable, and had returned to th^fire, picturing 
how Quinty might come home at midnight — bleeding and 
hungry from the cold world to whose mercy he had mis- 
takenly appealed — when up rose the plaintive moan again, 
with quick repetition — some creature in agony, beyond a 
doubt — and, seizing my hat, I rushed out, with a whistle 
of penitent vehemence, and stood listening upon tl'e lawn. 
All still again. 

After a look about among the sharp-edged shadows of 
the hemlocks, I was turning to the door for a great coat, 
to make a more leisurely patrol around the premises, when 
the sound reached me once more, coming evidently from 
the hill-slope above the stables. I rushed to the spot, and 
there lay — stretched out and moaning beneath the glaring 
moon — not Quinty, but the dog of all canine-ity that I 
wished most dead — neighbor Currie's spotted fox-hound, 
that kills all our rabbits ! Hatred and pity struggled in 
my breast. I saw in a moment (for I had heard his yelp, 
at intervals, all day, coming up from the inaccessible re- 
moteness of the glen), that he had chased my innocents 
till he had run himself to death (as is the nature of the 
breed), struggling only to reach human succor in his dying 



46 The Contalescent. 

hour. There he lay — his head flung back and his eyes 
glazed — the open mouth just, moving with his moan, and 
his limbs quivering and extended — and, sympathy apart, I 
should have preferred, of course, that he vpould die imme- 
diately. But, no 

I was at his side in another moment, with a handful of 
slices of cold turkey vrhich I had snatched from the table 
— mine enemy forgiven in his extremity, and the delicate 
meat shoved down into his open throat with eager and 
trusting finger. No recognition of meat or me ! I felt his 
shrunk loins. They were still slightly warm. But there 
lay the white meat, unstirred between his loosened jaws, 
and he was a dog past turkey, it was clear. Poor fellow ! 
Was he conscious and suffering, while he could still strug- 
gle and moan ? 

As I stood looking at the dying creature, wondering at 
the scene of death under that solemn sky, and admiring 
the nature that could so pursue its game to the dying 
gasp, it occurred to me that a dash of cold water, and then 
the warmth of the kitchen fire, might startle life back into 
his veins. My man George came up at the moment, and, 
while he ran for his stable-bucket, I held" up the dying 
dog by the tail, to make it down-hill to his heart and brain; 
but neither the change of posture nor the dash of water 
was of any avail. His moan stopped. There was a con- 
vulsive movement only in his legs, the spasm of their just 



Dog Insanity. 47 

exhausted swiftness. George thought he " ought to be 
put out of misery." And so thought I. But, of the 
knocking on the head I did not like to remain and be a 
spectator. 

Whither, upon the moonlight, sped that released energy 
— that self-sacrificing, single-though ted devotion ? Its toil 
— its forgetfulness of cold and hunger — had been for 
another's food. The caught game was left untouched for 
his master. Did so brave a spirit stop there ? I will put 
a head-stone to the grave where he is left behind — since 
we must pray for worse company to Heaven. 

I was in at my friend the blacksmith's, a day or two 
after, and Torrey rather favored my idea of dog existence 
lapping over upon man's immortality — (here and there a 
dog that was better worth saving than some men, that is to 
say) — mentioning insanity in the animal as a peculiarity 
which it shared with our species. He said, however, that 
a wolf bad been killed a few nights before, just out- 
side the village ; and, by its actions, and a swelling over 
its brain from some previous blow or bruise, he believed 
that animal also was insane. The talk ended in our agree- 
ing to walk over to neighbor Clark's farm, under the 
mountain, the next day, and have a look at the fur and 
phrenology of the "wild critter "—taking our mutual 
crony, Chatfield the tanner, along with us, to see whether 
we could bring home the skin and have it dressed for a relic. 



LETTER VI. 

Poetry of Wild Animals in a Neighborhood — An Insane Wolf — His coming down 
from the Mountains to claim HosiJitality — Visit to a Neighbor's to sec his Re- 
mains — The Irishman's reluctance to confessing having buried him — The dis- 
illusion and the " Yaller Dog." 

February, 1855. 
In the daily life of every human being, I am inclined to 
think, there is a background of poetry — some other life, if it 
is only the spider's web weaving in the corner of a room, 
where the imagination takes refuge from its own too 
mere life of things daily and certain. For me, the wild 
animals of the neighborhood furnish that charming poetry 
of uncertainty. They are growing rarer and rarer, about 
Idlewild — but we still have venison in plenty, bear's-meat 
occasionally, now and then a wolf-skin offered for sale, and 
stories of wild-cats and panthers. With material for thus 
peopling the bushes through whicli one rides, in these 
tangled Highlands, the " price per acre " is blissfully for- 
gotten. One does not count, over again, neighbor Loose- 
pig's litter in the road. The bright green thickets might 
turn out something, as we ride along, besides estimates of 
bean-poles and fire-wood. 

It was this possibility, of something around us beyond 

48 



An Insane Wolf. 4^ 

what is seen and saleable, that made me listen very eagerly 
to the blacksmith's story of the wolf he believed to be in- 
sane. That so wild an auimal should come down from the 
mountains, and deliberately claim hospitality — putting his 
paws up against Farmer Clark's kitchen window, and stay- 
ing quietly to be killed, while the dog (the biggest New- 
foundland in the neighborhood), was afraid to go near 
him — was explainable only by that unnatural bump noticed 
afterwards on his brain. So said Torrey, and so hoped I ; 
and, as I said before, I wanted the skin of that " myth," and 
beofo-ed the blacksmith and tanner to come down and dine 
with me the next day — to walk over afterwards and 
exhume him, in company that would treat with tenderness 
both his poetry and peltry. 

Farmer Clark lives next door to the Storm-Kino; — " snuo* 
up to Butter Hill," as the neighbors would define his posi- 
tion ; and, starting from Idlewild soon after dinner, we 
made a bee-line, across lots, to the mountain. U was one 
of the bitterest days of that " coldest weather for fifty-eight 
years," the papers say — (last week) — and the ground was 
bare, Torrey's shop being a sort of shanty of shrunk 
boards, through the cracks of which he keeps up his 
acquaintance with the winds pretty well, and Chatfield fol- 
lowing an out-door business, they found it warmer walking 
than I did, probably ; though my principal embarrassment 
was the difiiculty of laughing at Torrey's stories as we went 

3 



50 The Convalescent. 

along ; the first six breaths in the open air having stiffened 
my moustache into a curry-comb, and any sudden move- 
ment of the lips very painful. On one farm that wo 
passed (it was among the tall blacksmith's early reminis- 
cences), there used to live a tough old grinder of the poor, 
who slept with one eye open to guard his apples. Out of 
respect to his age, the boys did not like to stone him (when 
he jumped out of bed and gave chase without stopping to 
dress, at the first barking of the dog), but they armea 
themselves one night, each with a shingle cut into the 
shape of what the school-marm used to call her " spanker," 
and, laying a rail to trip up the old gentleman on a 
soft place, they run him out of breath and then led the 
chase across it. When he was down, they availed them- 
selves of the easy access to his sensibilities, held his sharp 
nose to the grass and administered school justice. As the 
nearest instance of Western Lynch law to the Eastern sea- 
board, which had ever come to my knowledge, I thought 
the mention of this little statistic miofht be of interest 
to the future historian. 

The grand mountain, whose tangled side rose seventeen 
hundred feet in an almost perpendicular wall before us, was 
full of bear-stories, of course. Torrey gave us several 
poetical ones he had heard — better than the librettos of 
most operas any one of them, but this letter is to be limited 
to poetry with an eye-witness. 



Jemmy's Reluctance to Confess. 61 

Neighbor Clark's big dog came out, as we approached 
the gate ; but, though it was he who had seen the wolf and 
doubtless remembered him, he was of that unhappy class 
who cannot impart their feelings. We inquired for his 
master. He had gone to New York, but " Jemmy," who 
shot the wolf, was in the shanty, farther down the road ; 
and so we kept on to Jemmy's. 

But our pilgrimage to the tomb of the insane hero was 
to have other obstacles. Jemmy ignored the whole busi- 
ness ! His friend, a brother Paddy, had been prosecuted 
for killing a dog that bothered his cow, a short time before 
— damages twenty-one dollars and fifty cents — and he was 
not going to confess to anything " in this quare country," 
till it was " proved on him." We were lawyers, hunting 
up evidence ; he knew that. And there stood Jemmy, with 
his teeth shut tight together. If our neighbor the miller 
had not chanced to drive up, and agreed to " stand 
between Jemmy and all harm," we should have had no 
clue to the mortal remains to which we had come to 
do honor. 

On a slight elevation in the potato-field, behind the 
barn, Jemmy was soon at work with his pick-axe. He had 
" put him under about two feet, on a wet day ;" but it was 
like hammering granite, now, the ground was so frozen 
into rocks. We looked on (we three, and the miller, 
whose curiosity was awakened), standing under the lee of 



62 The Convalescent. 



n 



the barn, and keeping our enthusiasm as warm as was any 
way possible ; but the wolf coming to light again so reluc- 
tantly, that I should have liked to consult some " table " (in 
a warm room), as to whether his spirit thought pos- 
thumous renown worth while. Sleeping in his grave, thus 
far, in respectable uncertainty, it was hazardous, at least 
(we might have been kindly considerate enough to reflect), 
to subject him, a second time, to the scrutinies of a well- 
peppered immortality. 

It was suo-orested, at last, that we should find a warmer 
place in which to await the resurrection ; and, Ohatfield 
agreeing to stay and see that the body was got out of 
the frozen ground without bruising, we went into the 
house, where Mrs. Clark gave us a kind welcome among 
her children around the fire. " Further particulars," natu- 
rally. The night was dark when the wolf came — his jump 
at the window very nearly dashing it in — his eyes glaring 
through the gloom outside — the blow Mr. Clark gave the 
stranger quietly submitted to, but even the big dog quite 
scared with his still way of sitting and looking, and 
Jemmy sent for with his gun. They had buried him 
without looking at him much, and were not sure it 
was a wolf — but his behavior was very unlike any tame 
creature. 

The announcement came, at last — the sepulchre was 
open. We bundled out, quite glowing and comfortable, 



The Dis-illusion and the "Yaller Dog." 58 

to see the dead whom our hero-worship had so perse- 
verino-ly snatched from oblivion. Jemmy stood warm 
over his pick-axe. Chatfield looked mum. The open 
grave was there; and, beside it (in Torrey's words of 
disappointment), "a small yaller dog P'' They all recog- 
nized him. He had been a vagrant cur about the village 
for some time — too poor to be owned or pitied — and, in 
the extremity of cold and starvation, probably, had so lost 
his reason as to lay his paws against the window, while 
he looked in at the family around their supper-table by 
their blazing fire. If our interest in the poor dog had 
been a little earlier ! If a crust had been given him while 
living, as freely as -the half-dollar for digging him up 
when he was dead ! We stood rebuked over the frozen 
carcass, from which we had thus stripped the poetic 
mystery to see only the cold dull sorrows. Poor " yaller 
dog!" 

Torrey insisted, as we walked home to tea, that 
his other " myths " of the mountains were more founded 
on fact, and he has promised me a collection of skins — 
wolf, fox, bear, raccoon ('possum we have, for our poor 
fellow died last night), wild-cat, panther and wood- 
chuck — in the course of the season. There is a wild 
race of woodsmen in the mountains behind us, who 
will be glad to bring them down for a trifle. Between 
covering a sofa and carpeting a bedroom, I shall be a cus- 



54 The Convalescent. 

tomer for the hunter — " the meat his'n," as my friend says, 
and the poetry mine. 

Pardon the length of this story of an afternoon's walk, 
my dear general, and believe me 

Yours, 



LETTER VII. 

Pilgrimage across tbe River — Two miles on the Ice — Polypus Island — Its Un- 
suspected Capabilities— Billy Babcock and his Hat — The Sonnet to the Hat, 
etc. etc. 

March, 1855. 
Wk quite out-Williams-and-Stevens you, to-day — a plate 
of solid crystal stretching from Idlewild meadows clear 
across the Hudson — a two-mile mirror of dazzling ice, 
almost without a flaw. Since this extreme cold, our broad 
bay has been solid enough for an army to pass — foot, bag- 
gage, artillery and dragoon — and, with the sudden rain, 
succeeded by as sudden cold again, the somewhat rough 
surface has glazed over in a breathless calm. Such a 
spread of looking-glass into landscape — pond-ice into 
prairie of crystal — makes a curious demand upon the fancy 
for more room; a poetical influence of which a glove- 
stretcher is the modest prose. It affects me like the bar- 
rel of writing ink, which I saw at the apothecary's in New- 
burgh, the other day — wanting quite a new-sized thought 
to realize what was thus comprehensively hooped in. Two 
mil'es square of polished ice, framed in Highlands ! I trust 

the moon appreciates her new looking-glass. \_ 

60 



56 The Convalescent. 

Yesterday afternoon we made a faoiily pilgrimage across 
the frozen river, the children on skates, with " Lion ^' (my 
boy's sled), to bring back any lady for whom the four 
miles of slippery walking might prove too much, and my- 
self on a pair of neighbor Ward's "clamps"^ — the sharp- 
ened shoe-points with which he goes near the edges of the 
floating ice-slabs, in drawing his winter nets. Ward him- 
self kindly accompanied us ; for, though sleigh-teams have 
crossed, during the past week, the " air-holes" have a 
covering scarce thicker than tissue paper, and it needs 
a practised eye not to run upon them unexpectedly, 
especially with the glaze of the sunshine on the polished 
surface. At twenty spots which our friend struck with his 
pole, it dropped through with its mere weight, and we 
made quite a zig-zag course in avoiding the " skeary-look- 
ing places." These air-holes are worn by curves in the 
current, or by the entrance of tributary streams with 
warmer spring-water, or by the working of ice-slabs under- 
neath. The " suck under " is strong with the tide, and a 
dip dangerous. 

My main object of curiosity was to visit Polypus Island, 
which lies close to the opposite shore, and which makes a 
break for us in the music of every rail-train, intercepting also, 
for a minute, the sight of every long line of cars. This rocky 
mass, with a surface of perhaps four or five acres, and near 
a hundred feet high, is scarce visitable in summer, being a 



Polypus Island. 57 

sort of Alsatia, where doubtful company finds a haunt 
islanded from control and interruption. We passed by the 
island in reaching the opposite shore — where we desired, 
first, to bring away a commemorative pebble (from Irving's 
side of the river), and, second, to stand close to the track 
while a train went by at speed (a sensation missed by a 
mere depot acquaintance with railroads), and, these points 
successfully achieved, we made for the Polypus. 

How capabilities are dwarfed and beauties obscured by 
distance ! I had supposed this to be a round and barren 
rock, fruitful in nothing but cactus and mosses, with at 
most a whortle-berry bush that could find place to root. 
But here was an indented glen, opening to the south, and in 
which could be placed a cottage invisible from either shore; 
and all around this hollow, and up among the clifis, were 
the vigorous shoots of hickories and cedars that must have 
once heavily shaded the whole island, and which are now 
cropped by marauders as periodically as they attain a 
size worth stealing. Through the hickory brush, six or 
seven feet high, we {tould hardly make our way on the 
southern side. With its original (perhaps still cultivable) 
shade, and for a tenant who wanted only an idle wild^ 
with neither grounds nor garden to trouble him, it might 
be a most independent little snuggery — its ring fence (of 
water) kept in repair by Nature, its stone seats moss- 
cushioned without expense, and the fish coming of them- 

3* 



58 The Convalescent. 

selves to his front door. Aud then with yourself (at Un- 
dercliff) within a mile or two ; Weir the painter in full 
view ; the gifted authoress of the " Wide, Wide World," 
two islands below ; and the Storm King and me just op- 
posite, I think we may speak well of the " society of the 
place." Send along a Polypso ! 

You will have understood, by this chronicle of our trip, 
that we made a safe return ; my tired wife, however, ac- 
cepting the hospitality of her boy's sled ; and myself some- 
what heavier at both extremities — a hat-full of evergreen 
plants, which fair hands had plucked from the island, and 
a bootful of water from a slip of one \Qg into an air- 
hole. With the strong wind having full play against us 
on the smooth ice, our headway was greatly retarded, 
coming back, and we realized how the much lamented 
roughness of our daily paths may have their unacknow- 
ledged uses, after all — deadening, unseen, the sweeping 
blast of opposition. 

I may as well correct, while I think of it, a mistake in 
the name of the centenarian — Babcock — whose applica- 
tion for a Revolutionary pension, I commended, in one of 
my letters to your Washington influence. I wrote it 
" Isaac " (a mistake very natural, as that is the name of 
his son^ who is the next oldest man in the country here- 
abouts), but his name is William — " Billy Babcock " his 
common desio-nation. 



Billy Babcock and his Hat. 59 

The honors that are being paid to Billyhs hat, by the 
way, are mournfully suggestive. You remember I got it 
from him in a swap. He had worn it from his ninety- 
ninth year to his one hundred and third. But though 
thus worn, across the isthmus between two centuries, and by 
an old head still jolly and vagrant, it had received cold 
victuals like any previous hat, and was near being left oflf 
— simply because used up — without even mention in story. 
How — it is receiving visits from the clergy and sonnets 
from the ladies ! Our hio-h-church rector has called — 
with his white neckcloth and stately manners — to see 
Billy's hat. A lady, hundreds of miles away, has sent me 
a sonnet — to Billy's hat ! But how close its shave upon 
pitiless oblivion ! What a mere thread of mention 
(in gossip between me and the blacksmith while my pony 
was shod) fished back that old hat's fading existence 
(^felt as it had been) from the void of not-worth-owning- 
ness — past nail to hang upon ! With the risk it has thus 
run in your mind, read the sonnet to what is now (you 
see !) a shrine of pilgrimage for the clergy and the muses : 

" Strange have thy fate and wanderings been, 

Old torn and tattered felt ' chapeau,' 

It were a busy brain, I trow. 
Could fancy half that thou hast seen ! 
Now traveling merrily along. 

Sheltering the gay old veteran's head, 

Or pillow of his out-door bed. 



60 , The Convalescent. 

How could a hat have greater wrong ? 

But rescued by a poet's hand, x 

(None but the bard hath seen thy worth), 
Henceforth, take thou thine honored stand, 

Among the mighty ones of earth ! 
I envy thee thy place of rest. 
At Idlewild, thou honored guest !" 

A Home Journalist. 
Bristol, Pennsylvania^ January 22, 1855. 

And with this installment of myself as a gate-keeper of 

immortality (send along your friends with their old hats !) 

I will close my cold-February letter. 

Yours. 



LETTER VIII. 

Pleasure of doing a Thing for the First Time — Meeting of Politicians on the 
Road, bound to a Meeting— Asked to go and make a Speech— The Disadvan- 
tage of the Counsellor's handsome Boots— My Speech in Favor of dividing the 
County, etc., etc. 

March, 1855. 
There are many things we like to have done just once — 
not to die in ignorance and go to another planet where 
there may be no such thing — and my country life is newly 
enriched, at present, with one such experience. I may 
mention it, for I was surprised into it, and shall probably 
never do so any more ; and the historian, besides, may like 
to be helped to the fact : / have made a speech at a politi- 
cal meeting ! You will think at once of a pump giving 
out water from the handle — my refreshment for the thirsty 
world finding its way from the wells of thought, habitually, 
by quite another channel — but, listen to my confession ; 

With the morning's pucker of work to unkink, and an 
hour-ago's dinner to remind of its more active duties, I was 
galloping over the snow towards Newburgh, (three p.m., 
February 10, 1855), as mere a republic of animals, me and 
my horse, as ever formed themselves into " united states " — 

the majority (of legs) however, as usual, not having the 

fil 



62 The Convalescent. 

upper hand. At a fork of the road, the minority (that 
wore the spurs) came to a halt, to let pass a double sleigh. 
In it were several of the leading Newburghers, bound to 
the village beyond, to attend a public meeting — one that 
had been announced for the discussion of the present vexed 
question — whether the County should he divided. " Would 
I go?" — "vote wanted probably, countenance certainly" — 
" owed it to neighbors to take part in.tljeir public inter- ■! 
ests" — " supercilious not to " — " duty to country at large" 
— "health and exercise second to patriotic obligations." fl| 
Well — yes, I would ! — (though I had never in my life 
been to a political meeting, and did not know whether it f | 
was opened with a hymn or the reading of the Declaration 
of Independence) — for once, I would ! ^| 

As I trotted alono^ after the big^ sleiofh, I took rather a 
more general view than ever before of my dependencies as 
a one-vote inhabitant. Equi-distant from three villages, 
Cornwall, Canterbury and Moodna (a mile, say, from 
Idlewild to each), we are subject, of course, to three times 
the usual amount of "local influences," most of which, 
thus far, have been very agreeable — including even the 
road-labor claimed exclusively by each of the three Path- 
masters, and amounting, all three, to no more than this 
branch of public indiflference seems to me to require. The 
three sets of village gossip, at whose triple mercy we are, 
treat us tenderly, I believe — perhaps because we might 



Going to a Political Meeting. 68 

appeal from a severe one to the other more merciful two. 
To a coroner from either one, iu case my vicious horse 
succeeds in his ardent endeavors, I trust I should be sadly 
welcome. Of the two plump and popular Bonifaces of 
Cornwall and Canterbury (for Moodna, though it has 
three factories and a post-office, has no public house), I 
enjoy the jolly friendship, with ungrudged use of tie- 
post and any other stand-up-for-me that occasion may 
require, I have every reason to suppose. The village tailor 
of Canterbury, who has made all my clothes for the last 
three years, is my friend, I know — and to be counted as 
two, for he and his goose are the oracles of the neighbor- 
hood in their showy emporium of the Fashions. With the 
freighting interests on the river, the lumber and butter 
interests " up back," the influential storekeepers, and the 
spontaneous boys (who, in all three villages, have treated 
me with affectionate familiarity from the beginning), I 
think I have my share of political and county influence. 
On the whole, I was rather pleased with the character of 
the virgin vote I was about to give, and trusted that the 
bridegroom question, under such softening power, would 
soothe down into a spirit of love and accommodation. 

The village looked quite astir around the tavern as the 
sleigh ahead of me jingled up. There was a spare post, 
where my horse could amuse himself with Scott's plate of 
the Fashions in the tailor's window, while the sunshine 



64 The Convalescent. 

added its persuasion to the tie-strap in keeping him quiet ; 
and, leaving there this dictatable and unrepublican half 
of my usual identity, I crossed over to my twenty-millionth 
of duties as an unmounted republican — mentally apologiz- 
ing to my country, of course, for the two monarchical spurs, 
which I trusted would escape notice, and which made my 
heels contradict the republican respect for the majority. 

Public spirit was very lively among the decanters as I 
entered the bar-room, and a large majority of those present 
were addressing their fellow citizens. The shake of hands 
I found quite unanimous ; and, the republic thus recognized 
all around, we turned to the opposite door, where John 
Synes, the rosy landlord of Cornwall, stood announcing 
that all was ready. He led the way, and America followed 
up two pair of stairs. The meeting was to be held in the 
garret, that being the largest room in the house and appro- 
priated usually to any chance overflowings of company — 
the " double beds " beinor of indefinite accommodation, 
either for sleepers or sitters-down. Seeing a stupendous 
brass knocker on the inside of the door, I inquired its use, 
and found that the garret was used also as a Freemason's 
Lodge ; though what secret is hidden under a brass 
knocker which communicates information only to those 
outside, I did not very definitely understand. As the 
crowd poured in, I found a comfortable seat for myself on 
a wooden bench, under the corner of the roof, and the 



Proposed Division of the County. 65 

Public being distributed about among the beds and other 
furniture, we voted in a Chairman and Secretary, and pro- 
ceeded to business. 

The question was the proposed division of the county, 
or the creation of a new Highland County^ which should 
have Newburgh for its county town. Old Orange County, 
with Goshen for its official capital, is something like many 
an English family under the law of primogeniture, where 
the eldest son (Goshen with fifteen hundred inhabitants) 
has all the honor of consideration, while a younger son 
(Newburgh with twelve thousand inhabitants) is bigger and 
worthier. Americans-like, the people begin to fret at this 
perpetuation of a superiority unsupported by its original 
claim. But, besides this republicanism of the question, the 
Highland corner of the county wants the change for conve- 
nience. Newbursfh is on the river — Goshen twentv miles 
back. We go to Newburgh with our produce and business 
every day — to Goshen only when compelled as jurymen or 
litigants at law. With courts and records at Newburgh, 
we should save the expense and travel to that out of the 
way town in the back country, besides having a handsomer 
county town six times as big, and named after the green 
Highlands that inclose us, instead of after a Prince of 
Orange^ whose memory smelt mouldy, long ago. 

Of course there was an opposition. The Goshen inter- 
est, and the lawyers, whose fees and field are larger in pro- 



66 The Convalescent. 

portion to the remoteness and inconvenience, Lad been 
stirring early. Two ideas — (quite as many at a time as 
the mind of here and there a man has room for) — had 
been industriously whispered about — one addressed to the 
pride, and the other to the pocket. " A bigger county- 
town was going to cost more," and " Newburgh was trying to 
lord it over all the little towns, and they shouldn't stand it." 
As usual, the more reasonable side had taken the least 
precaution ; and Newburgh had done the unwise thing to 
send down her best dressed and most aristocratic-looking 
lawyer to address the meeting. As counsellor Hasbrouck 
stepped in front of the stove at the motion' " made and 
seconded *' by my friend Synes, I was sorry that there was 
no concealment for his boots — for they were of a super- flj 
cilious shape and slenderness that was very little likely to 
help the question. Of the political influence of such 
trowsers and cravat as formed a visible portion of his 
address, I had a similarly sad misgiving. He commenced 
most winningly and deprecatingly, however, and, in a 
speech of half an hour, (during which he replied cour- 
teously to the tall stone-mason who built one of my gates, 
and who walked up and down the room with his hat on, 
expressing his unqualified disapprobation), he made the 
advantages of the proposed division reasonably incontro- 
vertible. We Storm-King-ers, particularly, I thought, 
were shown to be the gainers by the change. 



I 



Asked to make a Speech. 6t- 

As the elegant counsellor retired once more behind the 
stove in the corner, there was a call from the chairman for 
any opposite-minded gentleman who might be inclined to 
express his opinion. No one answered. Our herculean 
stone-mason " had the floor," promenading between the 
big bed and the front of the table, but he was only elo- 
quent in interruption. The Cornwall butcher's fearful 
elbow was nudged, but he was " not feeling very well." 
All of a sudden, my friend Synes, the Secretary, up and 
looked over to our side, and — before I could catch my 
breath — he " moved and seconded unanimously," that I 
should address the meeting. Oh, John Synes ! And, 
after all my sympathy, when your tavern on the dock was 
half washed away with that last year's water-spout ! But 
it will not happen again — either avalanche — I trust ! 

My first sensation, when the blood at my heart got upon 
its legs again, was a staggering of my individual perman- 
ency under so many expecting eyes. I felt going to dis- 
appear. I had not, at that moment, the slightest intention 
of complying with my fellow countrymen's flattering 
thunder-clap. With a look downward, however, to collect 
courage to express my thanks and excuses, I caught sight 
of my boots — boots with no disparagement of another 
man's boots in them, it struck me at a glance — and I heard 
the call of my country ! Why had Counsellor Hasbrouck's 
undeniable argument been received with dissent visible in 



68 The Coxvalescent. 

all faces ? It was his boots I I had seen it ! Palriotism 
— poured ever so glowingly over the tops of such better- 
than-you-sirs — was not for republican acceptation. It 
must come from other boots to be recoo-nized and trusted. 
Mine were there — born for the crisis — twenty-shilling 
democracy in their very look. By such as these, rescued 
and borne aloft, the same prostrated banner might wave 
triumphantly. I felt the mission — in toe-toe and to the 
bottom of my soles ! 

There was quite a silence as I stepped forward. Scarce 
a man present between whom and me there was not a 
reciprocal knowledge of the length of axle-tree, from daily 
turnings-out, on the road — yet, accustomed as I was to see 
most of them with their hats on, their now bare heads 
looked unfamiliarly awful. " Ladies and Gentlemen," I 
tried to say, but my voice did not arrive, probably from 
not being accustomed to bring sentiments from so low 
down — no pen to twirl for an idea, and my heart being 
altogether in my boots. There was a second's eternity of 
embarrassment. I looked at the big mason with his oppo- 
sition hat on, and felt worse. Far oflf in a corner, how- 
ever, stood my friend Hixon the Moodna blacksmith, who 
had once devotedly jumped in among the legs of my run- 
away horses when they brought up against the corner of 
the bridge, and, with the sight of his tranquil face and the 
memory of those disentangled traces, my thoughts rallied. 



|i 



My Speech in Favor of Dividing the County. 69 

He was the " all right " to my powers of speech, as to my 
sleigh-full of children half tilted into the river. I magnetic- 
ally took his word for it, as before, and " went ahead." 

Of my speech, modesty, of course, forbids me to furnish 
you with a report. I made one. That fact, as an 
un-omitted experience on this planet, is enough for me. 
Posterity should have sent a reporter if it wished to know 
more of it. I may confess, however, to being a little sur- 
prised, that, in the account of the meeting, in the New- 
burgh papers, the next day, my speech was not even 
alluded to ! Happily for my feelings, the brass knocker 
and the mason with his hat on were also unmentioned. 
To furnish history with the niche, however, where my 
statue as an orator is to be placed, I will add to this letter 
the paragraph from the Newburgh Gazette announcing 
the occasion : 

" Highland County. — Tlie Voice of the People ! — At a meeting 
of the citizens of the town of Cornwall, held at the house of J. H. 
Lane, pursuant to the call of the town Committee, on Saturday 
afternoon, February 10th, 1855, for the purpose of taking into 
consideration the expediency of creating a new county, to be 
called Highland County, the following resolutions, offered by N. P. 
Willis, Esq., were adopted : 

" Resolved, That it is expedient, in point of economy, that the 
town of Cornwall should be associated in the proposed new county 
of Highland. 

** Resolved, That county lines should be so defined as to sub- 
serve the best interests of those inhabitants included within its 
territories, and that the proposed new county of Highland will 
greatly facilitate the inhabitants of the town of Cornwall in trans- 



70 The Convalescent. 

acting the regular county business, by bringing the county-seat in 
close proximity to the inhabitants. 

" J. Y. Synes, Sec'y. 

' J. 0. Adams, Ch'n." 

Of course, my handing in one of those resolutions need 
not to be mentioned in any " Ode by George P. Morris " 
on the subject. Written on the top of a hat, they are, to 
an editor's eye, " miscellaneous." And, indeed, as to the 
effect of my eloquence, I should rather you would press 
down your valve till we know whether the question is to 
be carried. Perhaps they will have a Highland County 
without the Highlands ; leaving us down here in a corner, 
like a stale end of orawye-peel — the majestic Storm King 
and Cro'nest, republican mountains as they are, namesakes 
of a Prince of Orange ! Boots of all kinds forbid ! 

Begging for any little side-influence you can bring to 
bear, my dear General, and trusting soon to be able to 
date from a ^^ Highland County" as well as to live in 
one, 

I remain, yours, etc. 



LETTER IX. 

Charm of Early Spring— Philosophy of Work as Overseer — Kindling "Woods — 
The Skunk and his Flesh and Habits — The Monument to the Czar— A curioua 
Stump coming down with the Freshet — Quinty's Fear of it, etc., etc. 

March, 1855. 
Summer is a lady-mistress whom you city-folks marry with- 
out a courtship — losing, as you do, the bits of summer 
(without leaves) in early spring. Such a morning as this 
— March the 16th — is one of those stolen tendernesses 
before full possession — the air as soft and timidly genial as 
an arm half put around you, and the sense of novelty and 
unexpectedness (it seems to me), giving a thrill to some 
inner octave of nerves that is overpowered by the 
prodigality of June. To-morrow there will very likely be a 
snow-storm, and you will congratulate yourself on not 
being in the country ; but / shall have had this half-yield- 
ing caress — a promise of Summer, which is, in itself, a 
happiness, as it is a happiness to have the promise of 
heaven in the incomplete beauty of a child. In one of 
your letters, I remember, you say you are " principled alto- 
gether against any anticipation of income '' — but there are 

a few nice things, such as love, summer and money, that 

n 



t2 The Convalescent. 

owe half their value to those forbidden anticipations. How 
about dawns — and new moons — and foretastes of heaven? 

For work and exercise, this is a finer temperature than 
that of the more admired season. I have taken advantage 
of the moderately bracing air to join my men in the clear- 
ing-out of dead-wood and brush, to give the trees of our 
wild ravine a better chance. Not that I am much of a 
hand at work. Fatigue is another word for nonentity, 
with me. At the first sign of it, spirits and brain " up 
shutters " and close the shop. But I love to be strong by 
deputy — standing about (with a hatchet in my hand for 
identity's sake) and exercising my will, at out-door labor, 
through a couple of manly spines for which I do not, at 
the same time, supply the marrow. Here and there a tree, 
I do the trimming of, to keep warm — linking to it, thereby, 
one of those comfortably-sized memories with which a 
grove (which is to be a haunt for relaxation), should be 
alone peopled. And I have found to-day that the mere 
weight of my presence could be turned to account — Bell 
calling on me, every few minutes, to " hang on " to a wild 
grapevine, which the weight of no single Neal Dow could 
drag down from the upper branches of the tree it was kill- 
ing. I learned also, to my comfort, that Nature publishes 
some volumes, with many leaves, which are not intended to 
be of any posthumous value — " the white poplar," Beli 
declares, " not lasting three moonlight nights after it is cut 



The Skunk — His Flesh and Habits. t3 

down." Even with such speedy decay, however, it throws 
a pleasant shade while it flourishes ; and so, white poplar 
literature, recognized as a class in nature, should have its 
brief summer of indulgence. 

On our way through the woods, my 'possum-catcher 
stepped off to take a look at his steel-trap set at a hole in a 
rock, for a certain animal that adds " perfume to the violet." 
With a south wind we hear from one, lately ; and fearing 
that it betokens ammunition held in readiness for our doof, 
Quinty (whom we love too well, since his return, to see 
exposed to combat which involves exile, even with vic- 
tory), we are trying the "concealed weapon" system of 
hostilities, instead of fairer warfare ; and, to tell the truth, 
a mere offence to the nose does not seem wholly to justify 
it. The skunk has his good qualities. " The genus," says 
N'atural History, " is exclusively American. He inhabits 
most parts of North America, and, though celebrated for 
the intolerable stench which he discharges when threatened 
with danger, he is at other times not at all unpleasant, If 
killed while unsuspicious of danger, the offending glands 
being carefully removed, the flesh may be eaten, and is said 
to be well flavored. The skunk seems to be perfectly aware 
of its powers of defence, and takes no pains to avoid man 
or other animals." In this character (not wholly detesta- 
ble, it seems to me), there is stuff which deserves at least 
open dog and gun ; and I was rather relieved when Bell 

4 



t4 The Convalescent. 

came back disappointed. By the marks on the snow, the 
skunk had walked all round the trap, but the bit of pork 
was still unmeddled with, and the " exclusive American " 
unassassinated. 

You will be surprised to hear, that a chance fate, almost 
unassisted, has erected, in a beautiful cypress grove at Idle- 
wild, a monument to the Czar. It was done the day after 
we received the news of the emperor's death, and (obitu- 
ary promptness, freshness of interest and all), I think I 
may venture to describe the event rather circumstantially. 
I should not be surprised, indeed, if, for the next twenty 
years, this auto-cenotaph were the principal curiosity of the 
neighborhood. Will you hear the story ? 

The snow-storm which I predicted in the beginning of 
this letter (three days ago), came duly on the morning of 
the ]7th. It spoilt my day's ride ; for, with the moisture 
and hail, the snow happened to be of just that clayey con- 
sistency which comes perhaps but once in a winter, but 
which "balls" in the horse's hoofs so as to set him on inter- 
mittent stilts and make his footing very insecure. No 
comfort in the saddle — but, how to get exercise and fresh 
air ? It must be some sort of work, for the walkinsr was as 
bad as the riding, and, in that cold mizzle of rainy east 
wind, the blood must be kept well astir. 

I told Judge Clumsy (the six-year old roses on whose 
cheeks were interested in the question, and who stood 



Ugly Stump brought Down by Flood. 75 

looking out of the window ver}' wistfully, after being all 
day in doors), that it would never do to knock under to the 
weather. It would be an admission that country-life in 
winter had. its unhealthy imprisonments. His honor sug- 
gested immediately that we should go out and " coast " — but 
the only attitude he patronizes on his sled (" belly-flumps ") 
is slightly apoplectic, at my time of life, as well as a little 
too head-foremost, down the sides of a ravine like ours, for 
the utter incautiousness of the Judge's general navigation. 
His proposal, however, suggested a project. A stone-boat 
would run glibly over such shallow snow ! That ugly stump 
brought down by the great flood of last year and lodged in 
the meadow — immovable on bare ground except with two 
yoke of oxen, and then with great tearing-up of sod — what 
a chance to get rid of it ! Boots for two ! 

Our men were in the stable, taking advantage of a wet 
day to oil harness and grind the tools ; and Miss Bell (a 
draught mare so named as the raaid-of-all-work, and in 
compliment to Bell's getting her — the ever-consenting 
creature — for as little as forty-seven dollars and fifty cents) 
was chewing up her crib, from ennui. All hands were 
ready for even a wet job, we saw by the readiness to get 
out of doors ; and, in a few minutes we were on our way 
down the Simplon of the ravine, the Judge astride of one 
of the crow-bars on the drag, and we other three pottering 
cheerfully after through the snow. 



76 The Convalescent. 

We trifled about, for a while, drawing off drift-logs and 
rubbish, till Miss Bell (with His Honor on her back to 
keep her down to her work), got warm and willing, and 
then we made a halt before our more formidable customer. 
It was an oak stump, that, somewhere up stream, had been 
dug out with great labor and made the centre of a brush- 
heap for burning. But fire had only burnt off its bark and 
blackened it, and it had been rolled into the bed of the 
stream, where it had lain probably for years. The unpre- 
cedented deluge that washed away so many houses and 
hills last year, lifted it, at last ; and coming along with 
the flood, and tumbling over our cascades, it lodged 
directly opposite a grove of thirty tall cedars in the centre 
of the meadow — prophetic selection of spot for a monu- 
ment (Nature getting up a committee of showers to do the 
cartage of the material) which I had the usual human 
short-sightedness not to see through at all. With the 
Czar so uncommonly alive as he was at the time, indeed, and 
the statue lying on the ground, tail upwards and unrecog- 
nizable, there was excuse, perhaps, for everything but my 
hateful resemblance to mankind in my lack of pre-explana- 
tory faith. 

Bell doubted whether we were going to move the stump ; 
but, at any rate, he thought we had better first try to turn 
it over, so that it would tip easy — the knee-planks of the 
new stone-boat being a present from our aristocratic neigh- 



The Monument to the Czar, tt 

bor Charles Morton, and the butt-end (of " Old Nic " that 
was presently to be revealed to us) likely to come down 
upon our friend's knees with a smash. The crowbars were 
fixed accordingly, with a stone pry, and a heave taken. " No 
go." Bob and I then took the levers, Bell put his shoulder 
to it, and the Judge held his breath. Now then — muscle 
and magnetism all together — up with him ! — and — over he 
went. But, what? Quinty the dog was off, suddenly, 
with his tail between his leers ! The two men burst into 
roars of laughter ! I had not given it a second glance my- 
self, but, turning at the noise, I looked — dropped crowbar 
and felt a creeping sensation down my spine ! From Rus- 
sia, straight — by all that was wonderful ! Head, mouth, 
eyes, teeth, form, expression — with attitude exactly as seen, 
squat on the ground, in every picture-book — the polar 
BEAR ! I had, that morning, read the news of the Empe- 
ror's death. The spectre was on the stump before us ! 

To fulfill the manifest destiny of that funeral monument 
was of course the pious remainder of our afternoon's work. 
Accommodating Fate had pointed out time, place and ma- 
terial, for the job, I walked around the grove and selected 
the highest spot of ground for the pediment. There w^as a 
mossy knoll on the southern side, where the Emperor 
would first catch the eye of strangers as they cross the 
little bridge over Funnychild brook, and where he would 
improve on their admiring vision as the approach through 



78 The Convalescent. 

the meadow road brings the profile into stronger relief. 
I felt a little superstitious about the way he should look. 
As to pointing his open mouth towards my Turkey-yard, 
the thought distressed me. Yet to turn that Sebastopol 
phiz towards the Stamboul of another man's barn was 
scarcely kind. To divide the evil omen seemed best — and be- 
tween better men than I — such as keep old Nic and his appro- 
priating claws at a safer distance — say half that devouring 
glare turned towards neighbor Crane, the retired clergyman 
on the hill, and half towards Friend Sands the Quaker 
preacher just below, both too sainted and venerable to fear 
harm while angels are about. So, monument to a usurping 
3mperor though it be — Peace and Prayer stand united 
where he looks. 

I trust our polar bear will frighten no good man's horse. 
The evidence that he looks pokerishly supernatural is in the 
trouble we had to get Quinty — the bravest of terriers and 
brought up among stumps and logs — to go anywhere near 
the monster. He half howled when ordered to come to 
us as we stood in the edge of the grove, and every hair on 
his bodv stood raised with fear. After half an hour's 
coaxing, however, he got within smell of the wood and 
then down went his hair and he expressed his opinion of a 
dead emperor — as dogs, since Launcelot Gobbo's, are 
likely to do. 

To turn from sepulchral bears to living "lions," we have 



I 



Whipple's Lecture on Cheerfulness. 79 

had Whipple here ; and (after his wondering look at the 
Czar, to whose cypress cenotaph he was the distinguished 
first pilgrim) we followed hira to Newburgh to hear him 
lecture on " Cheerfulness " — not an inapt subject. I think, 
even for a funeral discourse. It was of Whipple's cast of 
thought — breadthy and suggestive as his great Websterian 
eyes — and a full and appreciative audience gave him 
breathless attention. I could send you thoughts from it, but 
he is to deliver it again, probably, and should have the 
first use of what is so entirely his own. 

Judge Clumsy's compliments to you, with this history ot 
his first lesson in monumental honors, and I remain 

Yours. 



LETTER X. 

Visit from Old BUIy Babcock— His Breakfast and Memories— Billy's Daguerreo- 
type — Honoring Gift of a Coat to him — Sam B. Kuggles's Impulse, etc. etc. 

July, 1855. 
An old slouched hat, with a twine around it, hangs on the 
gilt peak of our dining-roora mirror, as you doubtless 
renaeniber. It is a venerable relic of longevity — old Billy 
Babcoct havino- worn it across the threshold of a second 
century — cost thirty-seven and a half cents, and in constant 
use from his ninety-ninth to his one hundred and third 
year. To obtain this brain-bridge between two centuries 
as a relic, I made an even "sw^op " with him, last summer, 
(as I described in one of these Idlewild letters), little 
expecting to see again, in this world, either the grey old 
head or my own promoted hat. 

We were lino-erinn' over our breakfast, vesterdav morn- 
ing (July 3d), the two or three pleasant friends who are 
with us having run their gossip deep into the forenoon, 
when a shout from the children drew our attention to the 
window, and there came old Billy, stumping along through 
the pme grove with his peeled stick — his rags and perpetual 
smile in happy contradiction as before, but his prominent 

80 



Visit from Old Billy Babcock. 81 

chin covered with a snow-while beard, which gleamed with 
a very new and becoming splendor from the confusion of 
his unwashed perpetuities. The announcement of who was 
coming was at once understood — the very bad hat on its 
gilt peak effectually dally-fying the mention and memory 
of the old man — and the first to run and welcome him at 
the door was a fair lady in most amusing contrast to his 
build and belongings, the elegant " La Penserosa," in the 
prettiest of French caps and tiowing negliges^ her morning 
toilette as eloquent of the Present as he and his toggery of 
the Past. 

Billy had walked twelve miles that morning (in his one 
hundred and third year, remember !) and had had no break- 
fast. He was soon fed and made comfortable, and then we 
ensconced him in an easy-chair and gathered around him 
— one of our friends, fortunately, being a walking hydraulic 
of History and Statistics, and pumping the far-down mem- 
ory of the old man with the pipe and valve of well-adjusted 
question and data. His memories of "Washington and the 
military operations on the Hudson, of the battle of Stony 
Point and of the hanging of Andre, and his impressions of 
the various great men who figured before his eyes in the days 
now passed over to History, were skillfully drawn up. Our 
friend (Sam. B. Ruggles) was delighted with the old vet- 
eran's pertinacious and simple truthfulness, never allowing 
a question to lead him into an admission of what was not 

4* 



82 The Convalescent. 

perfectly clear in his own mind, and denying many supposi- 
tions of knowledofe whicli were made for him and which 
it would have added to his consequence to be possessed of. 
He was honest and direct as if he had never thouo-ht of 
being anything else — a saving of trouble which was per- 
haps among the reasons for his lasting so long. 

Mr. Ruggles proposed, after a while, that we should ask 
the Sun, that had shone so long upon Billy, to oblige us 
with his likeness ; and, on explaining to the veteran what 
his old friend Daylight had learned to do, of late years, he 
consented at once, though with an amusing expression of 
reserved faith in the matter. Up in the mountains, where 
Billy is a vagrant, daguerreotypes were probably never 
heard of; and he evidently thought that he had seen his 
own shadow lonor enousfh to know all the sun could do in 
that line ! 

We soon had the ponies at the door, and hoisted in the 
old man — his peeled stick and tattered shirt in alto relievo 
on the back seat, and about a century's difference between 
his age and that of my boy, who sat beside him. The day 
was not too warm, and the drive along the river to New- 
burgh was very delightful. Billy, probably (riding along 
so respectably now), was not even remembering my agoniz- 
ing encounter with him, a year ago, on the same road — 
the old sinner staggering home drunk, in my virtuous 
trowsers, given him the day before ! I should mention, by 



Billy's Daguerreotype. 83 

the way, that my last summer's hat, which came back upon 
the old man's head yesterday, after a year's wear, has a 
considerably altered expression. He had, as usual, slept 
out of doors occasionally, and the hat, which is his pillow, 
serves him also for a cold-victual basket, and a cushion in 
wet places ; but the wear of this trying variety of service 
was not all. He had found the crown " too high to go 
through the woods with ;" and, cutting off the lower half, 
he had reduced it to the proportions of a soup-plate — more 
convenient than becoming. I mention it to protect myself 
from its doing me injustice (as I am told the trowsers are 
doing) in a collection of autographs. 

Miracle as the taking of likenesses by daguerreotype cer- 
tainly is, the process — especially on the scale practised in 
rural villages — has no very startling aspect of sublimity. 
The alchemistic hierophant of the sun's great mystery — 
(the man who daguerreotypes you) — goes about it with a 
commonplaceness tedious to endure, ludicrous to remember. 
Billy was simply acquiescent. His business was to oblige 
the friend who was to give him a dinner and some old 
clothes after the job was over ; but as to understanding or 
believing in likenesses painted that way, he was not going 
even to try. The look of funny incredulity which this feel- 
ing of mere acquiescence naturally gave to his features, 
was faithfully copied, of course, in the daguerreotype. It 
adds to the effectiveness of it as a picture, though it 



84 The Convalescent. 

impairs somewhat the character of frank simplicity of his 
every-day expression. 

The daguerreotypist was somewhat embarrassed with a 
subject in shirt-sleeves, the unusual prevalence of white 
disturbing his experience in light and shade. The various 
trials, before he could satisfy himself, occupied nearly an 
hour, during the whole of which tiresome period and pro- 
cess, Billy sat patient and motionless — wide awake, but 
with not a nerve restless or discomposed. The man 
expressed his w^onder at the self-command of his old sitter 
and at the steadiness with which he looked straio-ht at him 
as directed while the plate was under the action of the 
light. Indeed, that the tough system of the centenarian 
has had no experience of neuralgic wear — that he is a man 
born without nerves — is, I fancy, one of the secrets of his 
longevity. To this and his inexhaustible good-humor may 
mainly be attributed, I have no doubt, his duration under 
all sorts of hard usage by poverty and exposure. 

A man one hundred and three years old, seeing his own 
likeness for the first time, was a dramatic moment, I 
thought — but Billy evidently did not feel the poetry of it. 
I held up the naked plate to him, and he said, " Why, it is 
like me T' with a sort of reluctant acknowledgment of sur- 
prise, but immediately felt about for his hat, " to be going," 
glad it was over. He was not up to giving his mind the 
trouble to comprehend it, and if I was pleased he was very 



Honoring Gift of a Coat to Billy. 85 

glad, and I was very welcome. This was what his manner 
said, as we hobbled him down-stairs to the street and got 
once more under way for home. 

But the sun's taking Billy's likeness was not to be his only 
honor for that day. We had brought him safely back and 
refreshed his inner man and given him his expected bundle. 
The ladies and children were about taking; leave of him — 
his long stick in hand and his face turned towards the 
mountains where he is to vagrantize for the summer — when 
it occurred to him to turn and inquire, whether, in that 
closely-tied and yet unexamined bundle, there happened 
to be a coat. The old chap's sagacity had smelt out the 
weak spot in my charity. There was no coat. The fact 
was, I had looked over my slender remainders of that 
article, in making up the parcel, and there was nothing 1 
could well spare except a dress coat, for which I have no 
further occasion in my hermit life, but which would scarce 
be " a fit " for Billy, besides the proba-Billy-ty of his swop- 
ping it for grog at the first wood-chopper's shanty in the 
mountains. No ! I had it to confess to the old man that 
his feel of the weight of the bundle had told him truly. It 
was composed only of the light-weighing articles of nether 
and under wear. But his expression of disappointment 
was overheard. " Is it a coat he wants ?" exclaimed the 
Hon. S. B. R., stepping forward and pulling off his 
own (a new summer frock of the latest fashion), and 



86 ThP CONVALESCENI. 

insisting on drawing it over the cotton tatters of the vete- 
ran's dirty shirt. 

And so walked oft' a man of a hundred years ago, in the 
coat of a man of a hundred years ahead. Mr. Ruggles, as 
we all know, is the look-out at the mast-head of the Age 
— giving to Public Progress, in many ways, his far-seeings 
into the next century to mark its charts by, and know its 
channels and dangers — and, of all men's coats in the world, 
old Billy Babcock were most drolly clad in his ! It 
was a fossil of the Past in the shell of an embryo of 
the Future — two centuries at least between the vibrations 
(^forward') of the pulse which the coat covered at morning, 
and the vibrations {backward) of the pulse which it cov- 
ered at night ! 

How long this remarkable old vagrant is likely to live, 
I should scarcely venture to guess. He " loafs," to and 
fro, between here and Jersey, his four or five generations 
of descendants (one hundred and sixty-five of them, he says, 
and all poor) scattered along through the mountains, and 
he looks still vigorous enough to outlive the half of them, 
and some of us. Die when he will now, however, we have 
his likeness — and his hat ! Come and see how the two 
explain each other, my dear Morris, and believe me 

Yours. 



LETTER XI. 

Visit to a Valley Uninhabited — Johnny Kronk's Fisherman Hut— Hubbard the 
Boatman— Discovery of a Spring, and Naming it Font Anna — An Eagle — Pic- 
Nic in Dell-Monell— The Baptism by that Name— Snakes not found, etc., etc. 

July, 1855. 
We made a pic-nic excursion yesterday, to a stream un- 
lived upon, a valley uninhabited — the stream a mountain 
torrent most romantically beautiful, and the valley one 
of Nature's most exquisite caprices of loveliness found 
nowhere else ; and, in what out-of-the-way spot, remote 
and difficult of access, do you suppose this Tempe to exist 
— unfound, unappropriated, and unvisited by the daily 
mail ? Why — 

Half way between your house and mine — three miles 
from Idlewild and three from Undercliff — two miles from 
West Point and in the heart's core of the Hio-hlands — the 
hem of the valley's skirt kissed by the Hudson, and the 
two most lofty and famous of our mountains, Storm -King 
and Cro'nest, sentinelled on either side, to keep guard over 
her beauty ! 

Now and then a proud woman goes unloved because 

none dare break the ice of her outer mystery of disdain; 

87 



88 The Convalescent. 

and the nymph of this Highland Tempe must be one of 
these. Across her proud mountain brow, and upon the 
rich foliage drapery of her breast, falls the eye of every 
traveller up the Hudson. " How beautiful !" say the 
pleasure-passengers of every steamer to Albany, as they 
glide past — " how beautiful I" exclaim the business-passen- 
gers of every rail-train to the city, as they fly by. To be 
ever-admired, never-approached, has been the strange des- 
tiny, hitherto, of this Highland Tempe. 

I should mention that there is a deserted house tum- 
bling to ruin in the northern corner of the valley, on the 
river-beach — built, years ago, with some design of a 
quarry at the base of the mountain — and that there is an 
irregular resident at the southern corner, known as " old 
Johnny Kronk," a Dutch fisherman with a title-deed to 
*some of the eagle-eyries over his head. And I should 
mention, also, that the valley was once held by a Quaker 
lady, the sister of my venerable neighbor, Friend S., and 
that this lady, Mrs. Hope Newbold (once the owner also of 
Idlewild), designed its Alp-walled seclusions as the resi- 
dence of a certain sect of peculiarists. I may anticipate 
my narrative, also, by mentioning, that, while seated 
around our sandwiches on the grass, yesterday, in a grove 
near the river, the venerable pair (Mrs. Hope and her 
brother), on a chance visit to the valley, dropped in upon 
us and joined our festivities in the shade, for the noon hour. 



Hubbard, the Boatman. 89 

With her noble features and plain cap and bonnet, the tall 
and erect old lady looked as if the nymph of the valley 
might have sent her, as a chaperon mamma, to keep an 
eye on our familiarities; though, with her genial smile, and 
clear kind eye, her breaking of bread with us was welcome, 
as if from the spirit of the spot. 

Our boatman was Hubbard, the renowned ferryman be- 
tween Cornwall and Cold Spring and the indispensable 
guide to the Highlands and their histories and mysteries. 
The friends who were to join us came down in the Alida 
from Newburgh, on her morning trip, and we and our bas- 
kets were soon gliding along under the rocky shore, Hub- 
bard telling us something we wanted to know at every dip 
of his oar, and facts, fun and the fairies,, struggling for the 
embarrassed attention of the eio:ht sfentlemen and ladies. 
Downing's friend, Counsellor Monell, and his wife ; a young- 
lady of very remarkable beauty, from the city ; Headley, 
the author, Addison Richards, the artist (our guest just 
now) ; my wife and my daughter Imogen, with my own 
hundred and odd pounds avoirdupois ("troy weight" for 
the ladies only, of course) were the freight of the long- 
shallop for the day. 

Clinging close to the shore, we came upon a little sur- 
prise, in the first half mile — a spring I had never chanced 
to see, bursting from the side of the cliff and filling a curi- 
ously formed rock-basin before it falls into the river. This 



90 The Convalescent. 



1 



basin, (size of a mirror in a lady's dressing-room j with the 
cold clear water forever running over its edge, is like a cup 
held out to you, its rim being just about at lip level as 
you sit in your boat. A more wondrous bettering of na- 
ture's ordinary works I never saw — in that quality of beauty 
so like the lovelv marvel who was with us that we ao-reed to 
call the fountain by her name — Font- Anna, the sweet word 
to be heard hereafter, as men ferry past and catch the mur- 
mur of its music. 

Hubbard pointed out a fine eagle, swooping around the 
shoulder of the Storm-King, as we glided slowly through 
the water at the monarch's feet, and he says there are 
many nests of them on the precipitous cliffs of this tallest 
mountain, constant to their homes, winter and summer. 
He caught an eaglet, last year, which ventured out of its 
eyrie-cradle (as young America is apt to do) a little too 
early, and it was an ugly customer as it grew up in cap- 
tivity. Hubbard, as you know, has been the pilot on the 
river amid trying scenes, and he knows the look of what is 
brave as well as what is terrible ; but he spoke of this 
adolescent cloud-loafer with evident respect for what he 
was born to be " up to." 

We landed on the meadow-edo-e of the vallev, and hunof 
our baskets in the trees, to be returned to with such ape- 
tites as we might find in our rambles. Certain glass 
resemblances to notes of admiration, with elastic stoppers 



Pic-NIC in Dell-Monell. 91 

not to be named in general society at present, were com- 
mitted to the cool keeping of a spring which Hubbard 
knew of. The ravine which led away from the meadow 
to the fork between the two mountain-tops, opened before 
us, heavily cushioned with foliage — every swelling mound 
looking rich and soft in its " velvet of three pile" and down 
upon the soft southern wind came the music of the brook 
out of sight, a thread which we could follow and trust to 
bring us back through the labyrinth. 

Nothing comes down-stairs with the beauty of water. 
There is a staircase of rocks, long and winding, from the 
summit level to the Hudson, through this vale of Tempe; 
and from step to step, leap the released mountain springs, 
like a king's daughters let out to play, and scattering 
pearls and diamonds as they dance down with music and 
laughter to the gardens below. You stop at every stair, 
as vou go up, to see a princess's foot alight upon it, with 
bent instep and slipper of crystal. Each one seems a pic- 
ture to stay and be left alone with. There are spots at 
every turn of this romantic brook — dim-lighted, spray- 
curtained, pearl-floored and roofed with emeralds — where 
the vague life-dream (you wildly feel) might show itself 
fitly, if ever — spots to remember with the Ideal — the 
longed for and dream-weary Ideal — met there amid 
enchantments of music, and seen once and once only. 

There are said to be snakes here. The ladies each 



92 The Convalescent. 

walked with a stick borrowed from Johnny Kronk's wood- 
pile down below. But we saw nothing to kill or run away 
from. It was a forenoon of surprises of beauty — a long 
climb and loiter, from lovely wonder to lovely wonder — 
each differing from the last. At one green dell, rimmed 
round and overhung with shade and carpeted with soft 
grass — a parlor with a water-fall at its window and lakelet 
of crystal like a nymph's bath trembling in the sun-flecks 
below — we gathered for a halt. It was perhaps the point 
of the whole scenery of the brook most likely to be remem- 
bered. The ladies, with their flowing dresses, made lovely 
pictures on the grass ; and, while we lounged and chatted 
to the music of the brook, our artist friend was busy with 
his pencil. We were grouped around the charming queen 
of our party, and it was proposed to name the dell in her 
honor. What should the word be ? The brook was list- 
ened to, and it seemed to murmur articulately, like a silver 
bell — Dell-Monell. And Richards wrote it under his 
visrnette sketch, to be eno-raved and remembered — Dell- 
Monell. You will find it by the echo, when you go there. 
" Dell-Monell " it kept saying as we came away, and will 
keep saying, I am sure, longer than we shall have summers 
to go back and listen. 

We found a cool grove near the boat and our baskets, 
where we reclined upon the ground, radiating from our 
centre of sandwiches, to while away the less lovely noon 



We Dip our Oar Homeward. 93 

■witli its shadows of Bloomer shortness — this part of our 
day, perhaps, more inerrj than poetical. As the shadows 
trailed on the ground again, we started for Cro'nest, a pull 
along the base of which, with a look into its coves and 
grottoes, formed the half of our day's errand. Of this 
I shall not write to you, now. I wish to go there again, 
and find the "wild witch-hazel tree" and "chick-weed 
bower" of the Culprit Fay — the "elfin-court" of the 
" monarch," and " the palace of the Sylphid queen." They 
are all there. That exquisite dream — America's one fairy 
poem — has a mountain to itself. It must be told of alone. 
We must have a long loiter and search there, and dip our 
oar homeward around its base in the light of a full moon. 
I will stop, for now, with the Vale of Tempe. 

Yours. 



LETTER XII. 

Rights of Boys— Natural Freedom of Chestnut-trees— A Chestnut-Saturday — 
Curious party of Strangers visiting Idlewild— Tying Horses to Trees in Pri- 
vate Grounds — Low Standard of general Politeness. 

October, 1855. 
I am a little unhappy to-day, and upon a point which, 
in its general bearings, is of sufficient interest to the Rural 
Public, to excuse the putting my sorrows into print. It 
involves the delicate question of " Love thy neighbor as 
thyself" — the human relation, that is to say, which one 
holds to the boys of the neighborhood independent of law, 
as brought home to my particular feeling just now in the 
matter of chestnuts. The burs are just breaking, you 
know, and the urchins, with tails and without — the boys 
and the better-behaved squirrels — are at their liveliest time 
of year. Pardon me if I take a fresh paragraph and go 
into particulars on the subject. 

I became tenant of this wooded glen, I am free to 
admit, with a full understanding that it was a sort of nut- 
municipality — an indifferently fenced wilderness, equi-dis- 
tant from the villages of Cornwall, Moodna and Canter- 
bury, and free to all three for courtships and flower-hunt- 



A Chestnut-Saturday. 95 

ing, the year round, but particularly for chestnuts and but- 
ternuts in October. The republic included squirrels ; and 
the earliest opportunities were seized to give these little 
never-sad quadrupeds, and their fellow-citizens, the lovers 
and children, to understand, that the new fences were for 
no abridgment of their liberties. As a previous letter of 
mine has been approved for stating — I was rather obliged 
to them, on the contrary (the biped portion), for adding 
God's sixth day charm to my little Eden, and, by walking 
and looking happy here and there, completing what were 
else, for either poet or painter, a tame Paradise. 

But I have been refining upon our mere wilderness, this 
summer. Borrowing an idea from my friend Sargent, over 
the river, I have been trimming the trees into frames for 
the scenery-pictures around. Half a dozen landscapes, vis- 
ible in different directions from turns in the walks and roads, 
have been set in leafy circles or pointed arches, by care- 
fully lopping the limbs of trees between which they were seen. 
The chestnuts, more particularly, with their far-spread limbs, 
had been made into massive frames for the distant moun- 
tains ; and under one of the largest of them, (and here 
comes my grievance), I had the bold promontory which 
forms the lordly estate of my neighbor Verplank, in- 
closed like a Salvator Rosa of great price. Now what do 
you think ? A chestnut- Saturday comes round, during 
my absence from home, and on my return, I find the 



96 The Convalescent. 

walks and roads littered with leaves, burs and broken sticks, 
my picture-frames all more or less battered out of shape 
with the long poles, but the sweeping branch that so mag- 
nificently arched over my Verplank landscape chopped 
short off! The gem of the gallery destroyed to get at a 
handful of chestnuts ! 

But, before moralizing on this, let me mention a more 
grown-up grievance which involves the same question — an 
accident of a week or two ago. Our grounds, as I have 
already mentioned to you, are graced and enlivened by a 
large frequentation of strangers in the summer months. 
They come from all directions — many carriage-loads a day 
— and stroll about throuofh the tanked recesses of wood 
and stream, embellishing greatly the groves and meadows, 
along which we get glimpses of their gay dresses as they 
come and go, but brightening my summer's day, besides, 
with the sight of happiness in which my open gate has 
given me a share. We were driving out on the afternoon 
I refer to, just as a gay private equipage with a party of 
four, drove in. "We exchanged bows with the strangers, as 
usual, and as my nephew Harry, one of the handsomest 
and most courteous little fellows in the world, held open 
the gate for them to pass, they complimented me by in- 
quiring if he was my son and saying some civil things to 
him for his politeness. They were well dressed and fashion- 
able-looking ladies and gentlemen — and, yet, see what 



Tying Horses to Trees in Private Grounds. 9t 

they could do ! They tied their horses to a beautiful cedar 
tree on the lawn, directly in front of our drawing-room 
windows, and left them there while they took an hour's 
stroll through the glen, the horses (just in the worst of fly- 
time) pawing and kicking up a square yard of the smooth 
velvet grass, and gnawing off half the hark of this invalu- 
able cedar. There were the stable and sheds within a few 
feet, and a long tie-post which they had passed directly by, 
placed on purpose so that no one could miss it. The tree 
which they have probably destroyed (it stands swathed and 
poulticed with sad disfigurement of our lawn, at present), 
took at least twenty years to grow, and the site of our 
house was chosen with reference to this and three or four 
otber superb evergreens which, if similarly made tie-posts 
of, could not be replaced in a life-time. 

Now, these visitors meant no harm — though 'I do not 
believe they would have tied their horses just there, if they 
had not known us to be off the premises. It was merely a 
hurried thoughtlessness of other people's rights, and a 
want of the habitual politeness which keeps people gentle- 
men when not likely to be observed. I should mention 
that the party rung at the door and requested to be shown 
over the house, mentioning that they had just passed me 
at the gate. The female servant thus being led to suppose 
they were our friends, and feeling delicate about requesting 
them to find another place for their horses. 

6 



98 The Convalescent. 

The fact is, the standard of general politeness and regard 
for the thoroughfare and ivaydde rights of nan acquaint- 
ances^ is humiliating]}' low, in our country. We are a rude 
and impolite people in little things, though as chivalric and 
disinterested as any nation on earth when there is any par- 
ticular call for it. Our primer and catechism of civilities 
want looking to — the better education of children and 
the working-classes in tSese trifling points of national man- 
ners. 

And this brings me to the question, the asking of which 
was the main purpose of my letter. Is it not possible — 
would it not be patriotic to think seriously of it as a re- 
publicanism — to so far correct the evil, as to avoid the 
otherwise inevitable alternative? Must our American 
imhlic be excluded from the parks, grounds, gardens, and 
cultivated rural retreats of private persons, and excluded 
simply because they do not behave civilly when admitted ? 
Ours should be, above all other lands, the one where there 
is the freest sharing of what is innocent, natural and beauti- 
ful. And, so little a difference of education and general 
attention to the matter would make it so ! The material 
is in us — the kindness and generosity in the natural ore, 
which only needs coining into pennyworths. 

But, for myself, I am still going to believe in mankind 
and strangers — or, rather, I am not going to exclude the 
ninety-nine kindly and gentle for the incivility and brutality 



A Welcome to All. 99 

of the hundredth. It will be long before I shall be willin<T 
to see the smile of nature in a beautiful tree disfigured by 
" Beware of dogs and spring-guns " in a signboard on the 
trunk. So, for the present, come boys for the chestnuts ! 
and come strangers for the walks and the water-falls ! Only, 
(once more) climb carefully for what will come down with 
shaking, and please not to tie your horses to my trees ! 
And with this little sermon I will close my letter. 

Yours. 



LETTER XIII. 

My Crumb-family of Winter-birds— The Kingfisher and Blue Jay— the Red 
Squirrel — A Quadruped Chicken — A Chicken half Duck — A StuflFed Bantam 
Hen — Interview between Stuffed Hen and Living Bantam Cock, Jake, etc. 

May, 1856. 
With the usual seasonable rejoicing over spring, I am 
mourning over the break-up of a new class of society into 
whicb I had found winter admittance. I will describe it, 
for I believe its history contains a lesson as to what ought 
to be done, at least whenever the winter is severe. 

In obedience to a newspaper paragraph (which had 
given me a hint as to the probable famine among the 
birds, with the unusual continuance of the snow), I sprin- 
kled crumbs, after two or three successive snow-storms, 
upon the roof of a piazza under my study window. The 
first day the little bits of crust were unnoticed, and buried 
with the fresh fallen flakes. On the second day, the discov- 
ery of the " spread " was made, apparently, by a single 
snow-bird — a little fellow with grey coat and white breast 
who communicated it to a very numerous family. Almost 
immediately after the coming of the second bird, a flock of 
from ten to twenty took up their perch on the hemlock 

100 



The Kixg-fisher and Blue Jay. 101 

aud cedar trees upon the neiglaboring lawn ; and these 
kept watch while two or three at a time descended and 
pecked lustily at the luxuries scattered on their snow-white 
table. Not to be seen myself, at my broad window which 
was on a level with the roof, I pinned up a muslin curtain 
— opaque, of course, from the outside — and through this I 
could watch them very closely and without giving alarm. 

I had entertained these little grey and white guests for a 
week or two, when I discovered two additions to our soci- 
ety, a high-crested king-fisher almost as large as a pigeon, 
and a very superb blue jay. These more coy customers, 
however, would not eat like the smaller birds on the prem- 
ises. They pounced upon what they wanted and flew with 
it to some tree in the adjoining wood, to feast in more pri- 
vacy and security. I wondered at these two lordly birds 
coming so constantly unaccompanied by their mates, till I 
found, by reference to natural history, that the males pre- 
cede the females a week or two, in migration — a law of 
nature which contains a chivalry toward the weaker sex. 

And, last not least, my " daily bread " was discovered 
by a red squirrel, between whom and the birds there took 
place regularly, not a fight, but a very active competition 
of scramble. By increasing the dispensation, however, and 
watching to make a fresh spread after the squirrel had 
cleared the field, I succeeded in maintaining the apparent 
plenty. 



102 The Convalescent. 

For two montlis or more, I had this lively society around 
rae as I sat at my daily work ; and it can hardly be con- 
ceived, without trial of the experiment, how interested one 
becomes in such a little family of dependents. Birds are 
very beautiful creatures. My two aristocrats, particularly — 
the king-fisher with his crown and the blue jay with his bril- 
liant plumage — were supremely handsome. And to know 
that one had found the "way to these wild memories and 
attachments, and, by those few crumbs, to minister like a 
daily Providence to such a troop of bright innocents, was 
very softening to the heart. I felt as if I had established a 
new relationship of existence. To my children, who came 
daily to watch them through the muslin curtain, it was, prob- 
ably, evidence, of course that " Papa " had the same myste- 
rious control over the little live feathers as over the grown- 
up quills in the inkstand — but it was new quill-driving to 
me. And (to be considered ?) as we lessen our intercourse 
with the more busy world of mankind, might not the culti- 
tivating of these simpler and less exacting relationships, 
with what is around us, prevent the feeling of isolation and 
disseverance so often complained of in retirement ? 

But with April disappeared the snow ; and with it my 
early birds and squirrel. Day after day I have tried in 
vain to tempt them back with an array of fresh crumbs. 
In the colder North (strangely enough !) the little twit- 
terers find more attraction than in our springing grass and 



4 



A Quadruped Chicken 103 

flowers and budding trees ; but I do not despair of winning 
gradually upon the notice of the later birds, who are now 
multiplying in our woods in great variety. The wildly 
wooded precipices of the glen immediately under my win- 
dow offer charming accommodations for the new acquain- 
tance I am ambitious of cultivatius:. 

I should not do justice to all the birds of our neighbor- 
hood, however, without mentioning, that, on an adjoining 
farm, was born, last week, a quadruped chicken ! Whether 
such caprices of nature occur very often, unchronicled, I 
know not — but my neighbor thinks his four-legged fowl 
quite a miracle. The nearest approach we have made to 
it, in our own hennery, was a chicken half duck (we called 
it the " Culprit Fay by Drake ") which waddled about in a 
newly-hatched brood at Idlewild for a week or two ; and, 
of its paternal resemblance, the poor thing was evidently 
very much ashamed. It made for a bush and hid its 
webbed feet and horizontal tail whenever it was looked at 
— a genealogical sensibility which was curious, at least, in 
one of that family. 

While speaking of fowls, by the way, I may as well 
record, for our friends the spiritualists, some evidence that 
has turned up at Idlewild within a few days, on the subject 
o^ posthumous recognition. It may be rememberd, that, in 
a letter of two or three months since, I mentioned a demon- 
stration of remarkable attachment and constancy between 



104 The Convalescent. 

a bantam cock and his hen Polly. Polly died, as I patheti- 
cally narrated the particulars. But, from the almost 
human interest which she had excited among the children, 
it was thought best to confer upon her the nearest ap- 
proach we could make to human immortality — sending 
her to the city, that is to say, to be stuffed for what 
Future there might be in salts and spices. 

Polly's purgatory was unexpectedly long (so long, in 
fact, that we had almost forgotten all about her) but, a day 
or two since, she reappeared — purified and no more to die, 
looking as natural as life, though in the blessed ornithology 
of a glass case. She was set upon the dinner-table (though 
stuffed, not to be eaten but admired) ; but presently there 
was an acclamation among the children,. a "table-moving" 
of the liveliest kind, to introduce this apparition to Jake. 
What would he say to her ? Would he recognize her ? 
In three months had he foro-otten her ? 

The glass cover was removed, and Polly was taken out 
upon the lawn, where (with the square block to which her 
feet were nailed, hidden in the grass, she stood erect and 
apparentl}^ in fall feather of life and beauty. They went 
to the stable for the widower — but, meantime, I had my 
doubts, I confess. The experiment involved curious ques- 
tions : — is there natural magnetism after death ? — can 
there be sympathy without reciprocity of bowels? — what 
is the length of fowl memory? — how about affectionateness 



Stuffed Hex axd Litikg BA>rcAM Cock. 105 

post mortem ? — is reoogmtion instinctive without m^ 
don or exchange of loots? etc, ete. It wjk to be Xature's 
bare and. blunt decision on tbese tender points ; and, for 
me, there oonld scarcely have been contrived a five-min- 
utes' more anxious anticipation. 

In the habit of being taken into the hand to be fed, Jake 
■wa? easily enough caught and brought up for the inter- 
view ; and, with the household standing round in expectant 
wonder, he w^ set down suddenly in the disembowelled 
presence of his Polly. 

He stood a moment — expecting, evidently, the usual 
Polly-syllable of welcome — but, no cluck, no stir ! The 
doubt, or delay, was only for a moment, however. The semi- 
circular repetitions of trot and the extension of the wings to 
the ground, the firet signs of bantam aJJectionateness, were 
most busily gone into ; and then followed the most voluble 
utterance of rooster sentiments, peckings with the bill,crow- 
inofs and caressingcs — ^Pollv beingr several times knocked 
over, but her irresponave prostrations and the evident set- 
ting of her up again, by the children, producing, on the be- 
lieving Jake, no beginning of incredulity or mistrust. In 
dread, at last, of damage to the personal appearance of the 
over-caressed Polly, we removed her once more from his 
mortal sight and sent him back, with refreshed memory, 
to the stable — a widower once more. 

And, with these precious facts for deduction and theory, 



106 The Convalescent. 

perhaps our clairvoyant friends will be assisted to a revela- 
tion. 

Our daily boat between Newburgh and New York 

has beo-un to pass under my windows morning and evening, 
and it quite seems to connect us with the world again — 
though, with my invalid seclusion of nearly eight months, 
(so long, I believe, since I have been in the city) New 
York had grown to seem very far off. The unusually early 
and busy stir of strangers, looking up lodgings for the 
summer in our Highland neighborhood, gives proof of the 
apprehension as to the city's healthiness for the coming 
season and our green hills certainly look most wholesomely 

tempting and beautiful at present. 

* * * * * * 



L E T T E R X I V. 

Late Freshet— Pond washed out and Boat gone— Death of two favorite Dogs- 
Charming Habits of the lost ones— Jake's other Name— His History etc., etc. 

September, 1856. 
Of the damage by the late freshet, "five hundred thou- 
sand dollars on Hudson River Valley alone," as reported 
in the newspapers, Idlewild has had its share — of the three 
foot bridges in the ravine, (logs felled across and worth, at 
least; each one dollar and fifty cents), neither chip nor 
splinter remaining since the torrent of Thursday. The 
boat also, on the Loiter-water (a sort of broad-stair pond 
between the upper and lower staircases of rapids), was 
swept over the clifi's and dashed to pieces ; and this we 
reckon at five still more melancholy dollars — the naviga- 
tion of the Loiter-water (that dark and deep-down lake, in 
the depths of the glen never visited by the sun), being the 
untiring hot-w^eather amusement of all the school-boys in 
the neighborhood. And it would be an obituary injustice 
to the memory of that same flat-bottomed boat, if we 
were not to mention, that it was built and painted on the 
premises — a piece of rainy-day work by which our faith- 
ful omni-up-to-things, Sam Bell, after showing his knack at 

107 



108 The Convalescent. 

everything that was ever done by most folks, proved also 
that he could have got oJBf the island if he had been Robin- 
son Crusoe. 

The last week, freshet and all, has been crowded with 
calamities for us. Two dogs, who, by the gradual promo- 
tion of affection and intimacy, had arrived at the undis- 
puted grade and valuation of human beings — our bull-ter- 
rier QuiNTY (Quintessence of Ugliness), find the hand- 
somest of possible spaniels, Jake (Jacob Faithful, alias 
Numa Pompilius) — are suddenly seen at Idlewild no more. 
Quinty died, alas, too, for so little ! We should have been 
so glad to have furnished horse and wagon for the water- 
melons and cucumbers in the way of whose travels by 
night the poor poisoned dog was some night-walker's obsta- 
cle ! And Jake ! What are the half-dozen turkeys (in 
defence of whom he died fighting the dogs of our neigh- 
bor the butcher), to his value even as a picture on the par- 
lor floor ! For such trifles of inadequacy and needlessness, 
are fought some of life's desperate battles, after all ! 

My very walking-stick seenis widowed, since the death , 
of Jake and Quinty. They both knew the difference 
between my taking of that from its corner, and all other 
preparations for going out. Forbidden to follow me 
on horseback, they lay motionless as I passed out of the 
door with the riding-whip in hand. With hat and 
gloves only, they knew it was the equally forbidden drive. 



Charming Habits of the Lost Ones. 109 

But, for the daily ramble through the glen, the stick was 
the blessed and unmistakable announcement ; and if ever 
joy was at its utmost of expressive demonstration, it was 
in the start by these two dogs for that hour or more of 
constitutional stroll and scramble. The hunting of squir- 
rels, the leaping of cascades, the swimming of pools, the 
chasing of each other through the w^ood, and (on Jake's 
part), the diving for eels in still-water, really made up, for 
them, a happiness it was contagious to witness — a happi- 
ness I found myself many a time buoyantly afloat upon, 
when I should otherwise have been aground in my dullness 
and depression, and by which (I feel thick in my throat 
now to remember) I am to be made happy no more. It 
would be profane to mark a cross on the rock at the foot 
of which these two beloved dogs lie buried — but there are 
thousands for whom the Saviour perhaps died, at whose 
graves there will be no mourning such as the whole house- 
hold of Idlewild feels now for Jake and Quinty— thou- 
sands who would thank God if even the holy crosses on 
their gravestones were to be wet with such tears as our 
children shed over these poor brute-playmates. It is hard 
to believe that two races so spliced together, as the canine 
and human, do not lap over — hard to feel that some dogs 
are not better worth saving than some men, some men 
more fit to rot in unhallowed ground and be forever for- 
gotten than some dogs. Creatures so intelligent, and yet 



110 The Convalescent. 

so patient of our neglect — so sensitive and yet so forgiving 
of our roughness and our ingratitude ! So gentle when we 
do not seem to love them, so overjoyed when we do ! So 
uncomplaining, even of hunger, if we are not ready to feed 
theui — even of storm and cold, when turned out from the 
bright fire on the winter's night, to watch for us while we 
sleep warm in our beds ! So ready to fight and die, for us 
and our poorest belongings ! Surely, for qualities like 
these, though they go upon four legs — qualities that would 
grace a Christian or a hero — there should be some outer 
vestibule in religion. We might even let a child pray, it 
seems to me, that, through the open door of heaven for 
the humble, where he is taught that the beggar that takes 
alms from his hand may sit above him, his faithful dog 
may be permitted to look in. 

Without any manner of belief in the theory that dog- 
life is the purgatory of departed souls (previously known 
sinners, still among us, that is to say, with no power beyond 
tlie wagging of inarticulate tails to tell us who they are), 
I must confess to a superstitious feeling as to Jake — shared 
by the whole family, indeed, on the night before his death. 
He behaved very unaccountably, that night ! A lady had 
been passing a week or two with us, by whose voluntaries 
upon the piano Gottschalk himself has been often wonder- 
ingly inspired ; and she was sealed at the instrument, hold- 
ing us in a breathless spell as usual, with all windows open 



Charming Habits of the Lost Ones. Ill 

to the summer twilight. Ugliness is apt to be more 
demonstrative than beauty, and Quinty had his habit of 
walking around when the music made him aflfectionate, 
and putting his ugly mug into everybody's lap ; but Jake, 
with his raven silkiness of proportions spread into a pic- 
ture on the grey ground of the gravel walk, enjoyed the 
music also, apparently, though with no expressions of his 
sympathy beyond lingering where he could listen in silence. 
Our friend came to the air of a low, melancholy vesper- 
chant, which she had heard from the boatmen, while row- 
inof out in the moonlio-ht at Amalfi — an air we were all 
exceedino'ly fond of, and which found its wav usually 
unsummoned, floating dreamily forth upon the full flow of 
melody from her unguided fingers. With the first few 
notes of it upon the lightly-touched keys, Jake entered 
by the low window into the drawing-room, walked across 
with a thoughtful grace and deliberateness which drew all 
eyes upon him, placed his fore-paws upon my knees, and, 
with his great brown eyes on a level with mine, gave a 
shrill sharp cry. He then went to the side of the piano, 
crouched with his breast upon his fore-feet, and fixed his 
steady gaze upon the face of the player till she concluded. 
With the close of the music he began the round of the 
family, and in a subdued and wholly unfrolicksome way, 
sought the caresses of those to whom he had hitherto 
seemed insensible. It was a marvel to all of us what a 



113 The Convalescent. 

sad and uncharacteristic tenderness had suddenly coma 
over him. We talked of it, the last thing before separat- 
ing, that night, and, in the morning, he was found dead at 
the gate. A vile dog was dead beside him, one of a pack 
of night-marauding hounds who are the pest of the neigh- 
borhood, and by whom the brave and beautiful creature 
had been literally torn in pieces. Is it strange that we 
should remember, even superstitiously, so tender and timely 
a leave-taking, seeing in it, soulless animal though he was, 
a spirit-presentiment of his death ! 

We love those most who flatter us by a preference — 
there is no denying ; and, with all possible appreciation of 
the perhaps superior intelligence of ugly Quinty, his 
equally unconquerable spunk and good humor, and his 
thoughtful singling out of my only son for his friend and 
master, I must confess to a weakness of partiality for the 
less gifted Numa. With no accomplishments except for 
his own pleasure — no rat-catcher, no cow-driver, no pig- 
chaser — he loved me ! From his first day at Idle wild, the 
choice was evident and the constancy unwavering after- 
wards. It is due to his dear memory that I should record 
one proof of it — the quadruped poetry of this eventless 
period of my life — his attempt at an impossibility, to over- 
take and accompany me. When I started for an excursion 
in the steam-skiS", the other day, he followed me at a dis- 
tance, and, though repeatedly driven back, stood on the 



Jake's other Name, 113 

wharf as the swift little boat left the shore. In a new and 
strange-looking craft, gaudily painted, and, with foaming 
wheels, we were going from him at ten miles an hour — 
already a hundred yards of troubled water between us — 
when, with a longing howl, he sprung into the river, and 
started to overtake us ! The captain of the little " Alida," 
delighted with the brave devotion of the handsome doir, 
put back his wheels, unrequested, and himself dragged him 
into the boat. But it was proof piled preciously on proof. 
To follow me to the river side, spite of all orders to the 
contrary, was love against obstacles. But, to attempt to 
overtake me in a steamboat, and with only his own courage 
for a propeller, water-dog though he was, amounted to love 
against impossibilities. The romance endeared Jake to me 
— outweighing the disobedience. 

It just occurs to me, that I may have lessened the 
respect due to the memory of Jake, by mentioning him 
with an " alias"" to his name. Sino-le-minded as the honest 
creature was, the being called after both Jacob Faith- 
ful and the Roman Emperor may require some pos- 
thumous explanation. A model of fidelity, he was fairlj 
enough (by his first lady mistress who gave him to the 
mistress of Idlewild), called after the faithful Jacob of the 
story ; but I am fastidious about names ; and as he was 
exceedingly handsome, it occurred to me that, with his 
new home, he might with propriety receive some new 



114 The Convalescent. 

name — one, at least, that should be more complimentarily 
descriptive. His previous home was a singularly beautiful 
spot, a country-seat, the special feature of whose grounds — 
a fountain wonderfully hidden in a deep-down dell — gives 
it the obviously fitting designation of Font Egeria ; and, 
with the Fountain of Egeria in the Roman story, Numa 
Pompilius is the name, of course, always remembered. I 
was somewhat hesitating upon this (as it runs not very 
trippingly on the tongue), when T overheard one of the 
children talking to the strange dog of the new ^ma he was 
now to be obedient to ; and this double fitness of the word 
— complimentary both to his previous and present mistress 
— struck me at once as overruling. Numa was pronounced 
to be his name ; though, to the word "Jake " (to his dying- 
day we were forced to confess) he wagged the splendid 
fringes of his tail with much the more approving recogni- 
tion — of the tender and sweet voice of his first kind mis- 
tress, retaining, thus, to the last, a grateful remembrance. 

To return to the " five hundred thousand dollar freshet," 
however. 

We keep forgetting, from year to year, how powerful 
and desolatino- are these occasional floods, and I had been 
all summer at work, bridging the chasms of our wild 
ravine and making walks along the crags — many a beauti- 
ful point of view thus gained which has been heretofore 
inaccessible, and all now swept clean and impassable again, 



The Freshet. 115 

with this devastating torrent. But we shall begin anew 
probably, when the waters get gentle-voiced, and soothe us 
into believing them once naore ; and such is the story of 
our trust in what may be dew, or it may be freshet — 

"To love again and be again undone !" 

though Bell says that we might hitch these objects of 
our affection (the planks at the crossing places, that is to 
say) with a rope stout enough to resist the momentary 
surprises of temptation. And, where there are principles 
still within reach (trees not yet up-rooted by the torrent, 
that is to say), it will be certainly worth while to try the 
strength of any such possibility of a make-fast. We are 
sorry, only, for one unforeseen trouble. The storm, on 
which came these rains, was doubtless the "September 
gale," though in August, and we are to have no more low 
waters — consequently no getting of our usual quantity of 
fine gravel for the roads from the beds of the brook, and 
no dry footing to repair walks and build dams. We are 
to wait till next year for conveiliencies thus dependent on 
the omitted drouorht. 

o 
Pp ^c 3|s yj^ ^f« ifp 



LETTER XV. 

Letter to Morris about a previous Letter torn-up — Temptingness of the topic- 
Pleasure of writing confidentially — Tired look at the Letter — Discontent 
with it — Tearing up— Reason why, and reconsideration — Irving's Abbotsford 
— Fragments of torn Letter re-gathered— Trip to Irvington — Breakfast with 
an old Friend in a same old place — Railway ride to Irvington — Wolfert's- 
dell— Mr. Grinnell's yacht, the " Haze " — Sunnyside and Mr. Irving, etc., 
etc. 

July 29, 1857 
I HAVE been trying to put into shape again, the pieces of 
a torn-up letter which I wrote to you last week ; and, spite 
of a lost corner (swept irrecoverably from under my 
table, I believe, with yesterday's broom), I think I can 
copy or re-write, what seems to me, with this after-reading, 
too precious to be lost. It was written "at a heat" — a 
description of the day before, passed with Washington 
Irvino- at Sunnyside, and. of a drive with him in the 
afternoon through " Sleepy Hollow " — and I destroyed 
it : — but I must be at some little pains to tell you why, 
and with what encouragement I now venture to reproduce 
it. 

To us, who are in the habit, each day, of jotting down 
for" our own private public, some one or other of those 

116 



Temptingness of the Topic. lit 

more common incidents " written," otherwise, " only in tlie 
sand," it is an event — not only " to be chronicled in red 
letters," but with eager zest and excitement — the one told 
of in these re-gathered fragments. So seldom are the two 
things thus united — what we have the most pleasure in 
ourselves, and what every reader of our Journal would be 
most pleased to hear us tell of! Mr. Irving — ^by far the 
most honored man in our country — is, curiously enough, 
even less honored than loved. He is a marvel, if only by 
that diflference from other men of genius — whose destiny 
it seeras to be to have their last days sad. The setting of 
his sun is mellow, the clouds behind and around him rosier 
as he goes. There is another summer-day beauty, too, in 
his decline ; the full moon of renown after death, seen 
clearly, even before the setting of his sun. His fame, to 
be recognized, will undergo no change, and there will be 
no intervening darkness before its rising — now in its place, 
full and cloudless, waiting only till the glow of his living 
presence, shall fade away, to show, with the same disk, 
more lustre. You see how tempting the theme — a day of 
sweetest summer, in company with such a man, and on 
ground he has himself made classic ! 

I wrote of it — a long happy morning of shirt-sleeves 
and glowing spontaneity — passing the day over again in 
the fresh memories crowding thick around my inkstand. 
With tranquil self- approval, the lull of brain and pulse 



118 The Convalescent. 

after successful industry, I took a walk (with a horse under 
me) in the musing twilight. But, alas for the happiest 
day's pre-pillow-y disenchantments ! Alas for the fancy 
less, cold eye, with which, before getting into bed, a tired 
writer takes sometimes a last look at his morning inspira- 
tions ! Failing, in the first blow-out to my candle, I was 
stooping for a renewal of the effort, when I caught sight 
of the manuscript on the table. Stay ! thought I, let me 
read again of my day with Irving and thus be sure of 
some sweet stuff for dreams ! And, to the worn old work- 
ing-chair we slid — mistaken night-shirt and I — and, in 
three astonished minutes, the blotted leaves were in pieces 
on the floor, the candle blown out with an emphasis, and 
my head on the pillow of discontent ! 

You will have anticipated my fault findings with that 
letter. It was written too confidingly to you — as if on the 
same axis revolved Morris and " the world " — you with 
your overflowing heart and the world with its volcano of 
misconception — and both " craters " are not equally to be 
trusted ! I had seen Irving that day, too, with a certain 
privilege — in the unguardedness of a holiday among rela- 
tives — and, more delightful as of course this was to me, 
and more valuable as it makes the description for the 
reader, I am, in a manner, more restricted by its confiding- 
ness. It is a question somewhat mooted, just now, you 
now, how far may be thus used, if at all, the privileges of 



Irving's Abbotsford. 119 

hearth, friendship, and relationship. But, with these 
fountains of better knowledge put under seal, what 
becomes of biography ? How is a loving world to be con- 
tent with its idolized great men, seen only in their books, 
in full dress, or when sitting for their pictures ? And it 
was in spite of this last argument, you see, that I tore up 
my careless letter about Irving ! 

But I have since read " Abbotsford," over again — ■ 
Irving's answer to the same question, for himself. He 
took a letter of introduction to Scott, and passed days 
with him in the intimacy of cordial hospitality ; and he 
has given us, in that most fascinating sketch of the 
" Mighty Minstrel " — of his home in the North, his man- 
ners and his familiar conversation — the most precious of all 
the pictures of Sir Walter. He used his privilege of 
guest to share with the world his nearer view of such a 
man ; and posterity without it, would be poorer by a much- 
prized memorial. Who has not laid away in his heart, 
like a sweet-scented flower, Irving's portraiture of Scott 
at Abbotsford ? 

And this gives me encouragement to wafer together 
again ray pieces of a letter. I publish it by his own great 
example — for, though the writers are by no means of the 
same skill and estimation, the subjects are about equal in 
fame and interest. Irving at Sunnyside will be a sweet 
dream to posterity, as Scott at Abbotsford — two great 



120 The Convalescent. 

hearts (in fact, I think) set as nearly to the same tune by 
Nature, as their two monuments mark the same height 
for their genius. Thank God the monument for Irving is 
a cenotaph — built but unoccupied as yet. 

Leaving out the first page of introduction, then, thus 
run my re-tessellated fragments : 

^» ^5 ^5 ^C »}» ^C 

" Wolfert's Dell, " you know, the residence of Moses 
Grinnell, who, with his nephew, married nieces of Mr. 
Irving, adjoins Sunnyside ; in fact, but for the invisible 
lines of legal demarcation it is the same place — there 
being no fences between, and the gravel-path, from door 
to door, beiufj like a well-contrived shade-tano-le in a 
partly wooded lawn. The Joseph Grinnells, (on their 
way home to New Bedford after passing a week with us), 
were to dine at their brother's, meeting Mr. Irving ; and, 
business taking me to town the day before, I arranged 
to join them there — the "up" and "down" morning 
trains very nearly crossing at Irvington, How magically 
these ex-ho7'se-isms of steam and iron cast out the " devil 
of a distance," making it " only a step " from the two 
ends of sixty miles to the middle ! 

I went down to breakfast, at the same old " seven 
o'clock, " at the Astor, and found my old friend Lyman in 
the same old chair, at the same old end of the table ; 
and I joined him round the same old corner, and took a bit 



Trip to Irvington. 121 

of ) it seemed to me ! the same old tender steak and 
fried potatoes — twelve years and its steaks and potatoes 
vanishing from our two old memories, apparently, like yes- 
terday's spots from the table-cloth — and, at eight, (praying 
God that I might be left alone with my small allowance 
of lungs, by any fellow-passenger who might wish me to 
scream to him about " Fernando Wood " and the " warm 
weather") I took my seat in the cars for "up the river. " 

We were at Irvington in an hour — a panoramic hour, 
— the Palisades and the Tappan Sea gliding scenically 
past — and blessed (I say) is a, long forenoon that can be 
thus pleasurably preceded I To the opera of a summer's 
day it was an overture of beauty ! 

The "down party" had arrived before me, and were 
enjoying the river from the uncommon out-doors of Mr. 
Grinnell's broad prairies, (or piazzas, if you are too " But- 
ter- Hill-y " to call things bigger than common by uncom- 
mon names;) and, off the lawn, lay the "Haze," that 
albatross of yaohts, which we have since seen among our 
coarser waterfowl in Highlands Bay. Mr. Irving, (who 
with his present serial historic labors, is rather a " night- 
blooming-^me-s " than a "morning glory, ") was as yet 
invisible ; and our host, taking advantage of the cooler 
temperature of the hour, made signal for his row-boat. We 
pulled off to the yacht and got a view of Sunnyside from 
her deck — just the point of view that an artist would have 



122 The Convalescent. 

chosen — and that picture of its coy architecture, nearly 
hidden in the close woods, but still temptingly suggestive 
by what peeped demurely though the leaves, will remain in 
my memory. A dip into the Admiral's daintily contrived 
cabin, and an introduction to his well-furnished locker and 
larder, completed our water-party. 

Returning to the grounds, we took the gravei-walk to 
Mr. Irving's. The quaint problem of his house unfolded 
as we approached it — the gables, pinnacles and porches, 
with their climbing ivy, the single tower with its dormer 
windows, and the deep shade covering it all with an 
atmosphere contemplatively mellow — though it had a 
charm for me (and one which, with all his eager interest 
the chance visitor must bring away), that the structure is 
not wholly comprehensible. Walked in and around the 
house, as you most welcomely and freely are, there are 
still shrubbery- hid ins and unexplainable oiits, covert peeps 
of windows and surprises of nooks and angles, leaving 
(what every hospitable house should be provided with, I 
think), the spare room for the imagination ! 

Under the small portico at the entrance we found sea- 
ted, with their books and work, a group of Mr. Irving's 
household of nieces, one of w^hom, at present an invalid, 
on a visit to her former home, is the wife of my own wife's 
brother — the nearer link with the beloved and honored 
master of Sunnvside, which, as makino- me a larger 



Mr. Irving. 123 

shareholder in what whole countries so covet for their own, 
is, as you remember, both pride and happinesj. to me. Mr. 
Irving himself made his appearance at the door, as we 

approached it 

I shall have to re-write that lost fragment of my letter, 
dear Morris ! It helped boil the teakettle, this morning, 
probably — Irving's very self, as I am sure you would have 
said, if you had read it — and, though there is no getting 
back departed Irvings (as I hope it wall be long before we 
are called upon to realize) we can at least do our best to 
copy them. Next week, you shall have the lost leaf, as 
nearly as I can remember it, with the remaining fragments 
of the Letter about that most pleasurable day. And, mean- 
time. Yours faithfully. 



- LETTER XVI. 

Continuance of Letter to Morris descriptive of a Day with Washington Irving — 
Impression of his Appearance — Visit to his Library — His Desk and Blotting- 
sheet — Conversation for a half hour — Literary habits — Motley'd " Dutch Repub- 
lic" — Feeling as to his own New Books before they were reviewed — History of 
the first Conception of the Sketch-Book— Pictures on the Walls — The Grounds 
of Sunnyside — Comparison of Climates — Tulip-trees in triplets — Squirrels and 
two-legged Tree-destroyers — Humorous Reason for Growth of Trees — Incident 
at starting on our Drive to Sleepy Hollow, etc., etc. 

August 4, 1857. 
With so attractive a theme as the one I am to resume in 
this letter, the shorter my preface, the better, I suppose ; 
so (stopping only to express the content which one natur- 
ally feels when his listeners are more eager than usual) I 
come at once to the spot where you were left at the close 
of ray letter of last week : — the threshold of Sunnyside. 

Mr. Irving came out while we were exchanging saluta- 
tions with the group under the porch — his true and easy 
step, pliant motion, admirable spontaneousness of good 
spirits and quiet simplicity of address, giving him the pre- 
sence of a man of half his age. This impression was somewhat 
corroborated, no doubt, by the summer airiness of his dress 
and a certain juvenescence that there will always be about 

124 



Visit to Irving's Library. 125 

lif^ht walkinfj shoes and a low-crowned straw hat — some- 
what, too, perhaps, by the unchanged erectness and com- 
pactness of his well-proportioned figure — ^but I did not 
realize (then, nor afterwards during the day) that there 
was anything in his mien or appearance but the healthful- 
ness of middle age, anything but the uncompelled prompt- 
ness and elasticity of vigor unabated. 

It was one of those morninofs when the inside of the 
house is " the wrong side of the door ;" and, to ask us to 
" walk in" would scarce have been a welcome. Mr. Irving 
leaned against one of the pillars of the piazza, chatting with 
us to the tune of soft air, foliage and sunshine ; till, the con- 
versation turning upon the architecture of the house, he 
took me into his library to see the drawing of it, as first 
built. There was, of course, a spell in the atmosphere of 
this inner sanctuary. It was on the north side ; and the 
clustering ivy and foliage at the windows contributed to 
the mellowed thoughtfulness of the light. At the spacious 
writing-table in the centre stood the one comfortable arm- 
chair, with the accustomed blotting-sheet, askew at the 
working angle, between it and the inkstand ; and of this 
blotting-sheet, by the way, (nothing legible upon it except 
two or three little sums in arithmetic, ciphered out upon 
the corners), I begged the possession I It was the first 
time I had ever asked for an autograph, I believe ; but, 
remembering a new volume of my daughter's, and seeing 



126 The Convalescent. 

at once what a treasure of an addition to it this memorial 
would be — -(the door-mat on which the thoughts of Irving's 
last book had wiped their sandals as they went in) — I beg- 
ged that he w^ould give it me, writing his name first upon 
the least-specked margin. Deprecatorily insisting, for a 
while, that the autograph should, at least, be upon a clean 
sheet of paper, he finally complied ; giving me, meantime, 
unsuspectingly, a priceless picture to store away in my 
memory — himself seated writing at his table. With his 
head a little on one side (as is his wont, and as all por- 
traits represent him), the genial smile on his lips "holding 
still" for a moment, and a covert look of humor in his eye, 
it was wonderful how much, for that single unconscious 
minute, he looked as the Sketch- Booh reads — how truthful 
the representation was, of the Geofi'rey Crayon it conjures 
up to our imaginations. 

The drawing of the original house hung on the wall ; and 
it represents a very simple, practical, and every-day dwell- 
ing — poetical and even romantically beautiful as looks 
Sunnyside now. It was commenced as Irving commences 
his most airy fancies — with a foundation of common sense, 
that will be worth preserving when the gayer ornament 
shall have lost its novelty. And on the more perishable 
exterior, by the way, the frost of the last winter made a begin- 
ning, killing a large portion of the luxuriant ivy (the 
original stock of which was brought from Melrose Abbey) 



Conversation for a Half Hour. 127 

coverino- the wall and turrets on the east side. The 

O 

additions to the house — its wings, tower, balconied windows 
and projections — have been the gradual pleasure-toil of Mr. 
Irving ; in this view, being one of his " works " — built very 
much as the Sketch-Book was written — and (more than 
most authors' residences) to be therefore pictured and 
remembered. , 

Our conversation for the half hour that we sat in that 
little library, turned, first, upon the habits of literary labor. 
Mr. Irving, in reply to my inquiry (whether like Rip Van 
Winkle, he had "arrived at that happy age when a man 
can be idle with impunity"), said "no" — that he had some- 
times worked even fourteen hours a day, but that he usually 
sits in his study, occupied, from breakfast till dinner (both 
of us agreeing, that, in literary vegetation the "do" is on in 
the morning) ; and, that he should be sorry to have much 
more leisure. He thought, indeed, that he should " die in 
harness." He never had a headache — that is, his workshop 
never gave him any trouble — but, among the changes which 
time has wrought, one, he says, is very decided ; the desire 
of travel is dead within him. The days are past when he 
could sleep or eat anywhere with equal pleasure ; and he 
goes to town as seldom as possible. 

Motley's "Dutch Republic" lay open on the table, and 
Irving said he had been employing a little vacation from 
his own labors in the reading of it. It had interested him 



128 The Convalescent. 

exceedingly. " How surprising" (he exclaimed, quite ener- 
getically) " that so young a man should jump at once, full- 
grown to feme, with a big book, so well-studied and com- 
plete !" This turned the conversation upon the experiences 
of authorship, and he said that he was always afraid to 
open the first copy that reached him, of a new book of his 
own. He sat and trembled and remembered all the weak 
points where he had been embarrassed and perplexed, and 
where he felt he micfht have done better — hatinor to think 
of the book, indeed, until the reviewers had praised it. 
Indifference to praise or censure, he thought, was not rea- 
sonable or natural. At least, it was impossible to him. He 
remembered how he had suffered from the opinion of a 
Philadelphia critic, who, in reviewing the Sketch-Book, at 
its first appearanvoe, said that " Rip Van Winkle" was a silly 
attempt at humor, quite unworthy of the author's genius. 

My mention of Rogers, the poet, and some other friends 
of Mr. Irving's who had asked me about him in England, 
opened a vein of bis London recollections. He was never 
more astonished, he said, than at the success of the Sketch- 
Book. His writing of those stories was so unlike an inspi- 
ration — so entirely without any feeling of confidence which 
could be prophetic of their popularity. Walking with his 
brother, one dull, foggy Sunday, over Westminster Bridge, 
he got to telling the old Dutch stories which he had heard 
at Tarrytown, in his youth — when the thought suddenly 



Pictures on the Walls. 129 

struck him: "I have it! I'll go home and make memo- 
randa of these for a book !" x\nd, leaving his brother to 
go to church, he went back to his lodgings, and jotted 
down all the data; and, the next day — the dullest and 
darkest of London fogs — he sat in his little room and 
wrote out " Sleepy Hollow," by the light of a candle.. 

I alluded to the story I had heard told at Lady Blessing- 
ton's — of Irving going to sleep at a dinner-party, and 
their taking him up softly and carrying him to another 
house, where he waked up amid a large evening party — 
but he shook his head incredulously. It was Disraeli's 
story, he said, and was told of a party at Lady Jersey's, 
to which he certainly went, after a dinner-party — but not 
with the dramatic nap at the table, nor the waking up in 
her ladyship's drawing room, as described. In fact, he 
remembered the party, as such a "jam," that he did not 
get, that evening, beyond the first landing of the staircase. 

Among the pictures on the walls of his library, were 
the two admirable engravings, one representing Johnson at 
table with his friends, the other giving portraits of Scott's 
intimates, as he read his novel to them in the library at 
Abbotsford. " What company these are !" said Irving — 
" how interestino- to have them !" As I walked around, I 
found, in a corner, a small pen-and-ink sketch — an exceed- 
ingly clever caricature of Paganini. It was done, he said, 
by Stuart Newton, as he sat with him one day — done iu 

6* 



130 The Convalescent. 

one of that artist's dreamy, unconscious moods — and Irving 
had taken it from under his hand, to preserve it. There 
was another, of the English wit, Lord Somers, a famous 
" man about town," when Irving was first in London ; and 
another still, of a dramatist whose name does not occur to 
me at this moment — both impromptu pencillings on waste 
scraps of paper, but framed to hang up as memorials of 
pleasant days. And, in a dark corner, hung Leslie's por- 
trait of Irving himself, always allowed to be the best, and 
well known to the world by the engravings from it. 

With the horticulture and arboriculture of " Wolfert's 
Dell," Mr. Grinnell has been singularly successful ; and, as 
we were to make the rounds of the shrubberies and hot- 
houses, before the sun should be fairly vertical, we were 
now admonished that it was time — Mr. Irving at once 
taking his straw hat to accompany us. A remark upon 
the beauty of the verdure, near his door, drew from him a 
most poetical outbnrst as to the happy superiority of our 
climate. In Spain, he said, he had found it most depress- 
ing — the lack of verdure. In England, they have the 
most beautiful of fields and lawns, but it is so damp that 
you can never sit down, out of doors, without taking cold. 
In our country alone, is the grass green enough, the sun 
bright enough, and the sward dry enough. While we 
were still in the immediate grounds of Sunnyside, I 
observed two remarkable triplets of the tulip-tree — superb 



Humorous Eeason for Growth of Trees. 131 

growths of three equal shafts, tall and of arrowy straio-ht- 
ness, from each root — and in these fine specimens of the 
cleanest-leaved and healthiest-lookino- of trees, he said he 
took great pleasure. A squirrel ran up one of them as we 
approached, and, upon this race of depredators, he had 
been obliged to make war, this summer. They were a 
little bit more destructive than their beauty was an excuse 
for. With another class of destructives, however, he did 
not know so well how to contend — the visitors who drive 
into his grounds and tie their horses to his trees. 

The well-shaded ravine which has Sunnyside sitting on 
one of its knees — (once called " Wolfert's Roost," and long 
used by that famous Dutchman as the covert-way between 
the river and his haunts) — is conveniently and gracefully 
intersected with paths ; but I remarked to Mr. Irving that 
they were somewhat of the outline character of ours at Idle- 
wild. Yes, he said, on his side of the dell, they were 
merely dug out and walked hard ; but, as they communi- 
cated with those of his rich nei2:hbor, he was verv often 
lucky enough to get the credit of the smooth gravel-walks, 
too ! And he presently gave another of his crayonesque 
touches to his neighbor, assuring us, very solemnly, while 
we were wondering at the growth to which the transplanted 
trees had attained in so short a time, that " it was done by 
Mr. Grinnell's going round at night, himself, with a lantern 
and water-pot, to see that the trees did not oversleep them- 



132 The Convalescent. 

selves" — a fact (seen through Irving's spectacles), as Mr 
Grinnell, engrossed all day with his business in the city, 
and only at home at night, sometimes takes a look at the 
gardener's work, by the aid of a lantern. 

At the door of the hot-house, Mr. Irving said it was 
warm enough for Am, outside. He preferred to stand 
under a tree and wait for us — particularly as he had seen 
the grapes before and hoped to see some of them again. 
Astonished as my own wilderness-trained- eyes were, of 
course, with the wonderful fecundity of those glass-covered 
vines, I was more interested in the visit to Mr. GrinnelFs 
sumptuous stables ; and here Mr. Irving kept us close 
company. He loves horses. And, as the groom led out 
one of the favorite "bloods," for us to look at, he gave us 
a thrilling account of his being run away with, a year or 
two ago — not by Van Tassel's horse, " Gunpowder," of 
whose viciousness he has himself been the chronicler, 
though it was upon the very same ground and with the 
very same result. He and "Ichabod Crane" were both 
thrown, at the entrance to Sleepy Hollow. 

As we strolled slowly through the grounds, we came to 
two dwarf statues — ^grotesque representations of " The 
Spendthrift " and " The Miser " — and Mr. Irving gave us a 
comic history of their amusing a party of friends by play- 
ing at " tableaux," the other day — stopping in their walk, 
and dressing these figures up with the shawls and bonnets 



Drive through Sleepy Hollow. 133 

of the ladies. Our walk was varied with incidental ques- 
tions of landscape-gardenino;, as we came to points which 
commanded the river-views more or less effectively ; and 
Mr. Irving made one remark which, I thought, embodied 
the whole science of wood-thinning, in ornamental grounds 
— that " a tree is only to be cut down when the picture it 
hides is worth more than the tree." 

But the event of t^e day, to me, was to be the drive 
through Sleepy Hollow. A live ramble through Fairy- 
land with Spenser, would hardly be a promise of more 
pleasure, Mr. Grinnell's horses were at the door (after a 
dinner during which I marvelled at the inexhaustible frol- 
icsomeness of the wit and spirit of the master of Sunnyside) 
and, though I should have preferred to take the trip, 
mounted from the Sketch-Book (Geoffrey Crayon on Van 
Tassel's horse " Gunpowder," and myself on the " Dare- 
devil " of " Brora Bones "), I was very well contented, as it 
was. With my knees interlocked with Mr. Trving's, as I 
sat facing him in the carriage, there was at least a shorter 
road for magnetism from him to me, than on two separate 
horses ; and, with so energetic a millionaire on the box 
with the driver, and a president of a railroad inside — to 
say nothing of the beloved lady who made one of our inte- 
rior quartette — we were likely to be treated with respect, I 
think, by any hobgoblin with Dutch feelings in his bosom, 
or even by the " Headless Horseman," should we be belated 
enoua:h to meet him. 



134 The Convalescent. 

I should not omit, here, the mention of a little merri- 
ment at starting, which I, since, find myself remembering 
very vividly — the sudden discovery, among the group of 
nieces and grand nieces, that Mr. Irving was going for a 
warm ride with a thick coat on ; and the frolicsome pull- 
ing of him back from the carriage-door, stripping him to 
his shirt-slevees, in spite of his remonstrances, and reclothing 
him in an over-all of brown linen, brought meantime from 
our host's dressing-room above. . The tender petting of the 
genial uncle by the half-dozen young ladies, and his 
humorous pleadings against the awkwardness of their forci- 
ble helpings off and on of his masculine habiliments, 
formed an exquisite picture — trifling, perhaps, in itself, but 
valual^e as sliowing the charming reality of the tempera- 
ment visible in his books. The playful and affectionate 
reciprocity between Geoffrey Crayon and his readers, is the 
kev-note of Washinixton Irvinjr's life at home. 

^ % ^ ^ ^ :ic 

[On counting up ray manuscript pages, dear Morris, I 
find that they will run, already, to the full extent of any 
letter that is to be read in the summer solstice — even Irv- 
ing, where it was any way possible, having given but a short 
story at a time. " Sleepy Hollow," besides, is a picture 
well worthy of a separate frame — so, for this week, will 
you content yourself with Sunnyside ? Of our drive 
through the goblin-haunted glen, my next letter shall try 
to tell vou. Yours always. 



LETTER XVII. 

Concluding Letter to Morrb about the Visit to Mr. Irving — Protest against 
" Influence of the Air " of Sleepy Hollow — " Green Lane" character of the 
Road — No living Dutch Inhabitants to be seen — House of the Dutch Family 
who keep the Keys of the Hollow— Boy iijh Reminiscence of Mr. Irving's — 
Monument of Andre— Haunted Bridge of Logs — Brom Bone's Pumpkin — 
Character of Scenery— Oldest Church on the River — Family Tomb of the 
Irvings — Passing of Underclifif in the Rail-train — Philosophy of Mr. Irving's 
Charm of Personal Character and Manner, etc., etc. 

August 12, 1857. 
I AM to go on, I believe, with the account of my privileged 
day passed with Mr. Irving — or, rather with a descrip- 
tion of the drive in the afternoon through Sleepy Hollow. 
Like the Q-av horses we did it with, however, I must* be 
indulged in a ipre-amble before coming down to the plain 
trot of my narrative — entering my individual protest, that 
is to say, against the Sketch-Book's rather sweeping theory 
as to the "influence of the air." I mean to state nothing 
but what soberly occurred, and I dreamed no " dreams " 
— (except while looking into Mr. Irving's dark eyes as I 
sat opposite him in the carriage, and those dreams of inter- 
course with a gifted spirit I could record only in verse) — 
yet you remember what he writes, of even stray visitors to 

135 



1?>6 The Convalescent. 

Sleepy Hollow : " However wide awake they may have 
been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, 
in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, 
and begin to grow imaginative — to dream di-eams and see 
apparitions." To which, as I said before, I enter my pro- 
test in the proper Latin of the law — non est invent-us — 
(let us invent nothing). 

We wound out from the smooth-gravelled and circling 
avenues of " Wolfert's Dell," and took to the rougher turn- 
pike leading to Tarrytown— following it, however, only for 
a mile of so, and then turning abruptly off to the right, at 
what seemed a neglected by-road to the hills. Of the 
irregular semicircle of Sleepy Hollow, this is the Sunny- 
side end — the other opening towards Tarrytown, which 
lies three miles further up the river. 

Our road, presently, grew very much like what in Eng- 
land is called " a green lane," the undisturbed grass grow- 
ing to the very edge of the single wheel-track ; and this 
lovely carpeting, which I observed all through Sleepy Hol- 
low, is, you know, an unusual feature for our country — the 
" spring work " on the highways, ordinarily (under the 
direction of the "path-master") consisting mainly in 
ploughing up the roadsides and matting up the ruts with 
the ass-Ass-inated greensward. For the example of this 
charming difference I am ready to bless the bewitchment 
of the "high German doctor," or even to thank the ghost 



No Living Dutch Inhabitant to be Seen. 131 

of the "old Indian chief" who held his pow-wows there 
before the country was discovered. 

With what attention I could tate off from Mr. Irving's 
conversation and his busy pointings-out of the localities 
and beauties of the valley, I was, of course, on the look- 
out for the " Sleepy-Hollow Boys," along the road ; but, 
oddly enough, I did not see a living soul in the entire dis- 
tance! For the -" Headless Horseman," it was, doubtless, 
too early in the afternoon. We had, neither of us, any 
expectation of being honored with an introduction to him. 
But I did hope for a look at a "Hans Van Ripper" or a 
" Katrina Van Tassel "—certainly, at the very least, for a 
specimen or two of the young Mynheers, "in their square- 
skirted coats with stupendous brass buttons," and "hair 
cued up in an eel-skin." Mr. Irving pointed out an old 
tumble-down farmhouse, still occupied, he said, by the 
Dutch fomily who traditionally " keep the keys to Sleepy 
Hollow," but there was not a soul to be seen hanging over 
the gate, or stirring around porch or cowyard. There 
were several other and newer houses, though still of the 
same model— (or, to quote exactly Mr. Irving's words, in 
reply to my remark upon it, " always built crouching low, 
and always overlooking a little fat meadow ")— but they 
were equally without sign of living inhabitant. Yet read 
again what Mr. Irving says of the vegetating eternity of 
the inhabitants, in his own account of Sleepy Hollow, and 



138 The Convalescent. 

see how reasonable were ray disappointed expectations in 
this particular.* 

One thing impressed me very strongly — the evi- 
dence there wa.-^, in Mr. Irving's manner from our first 
entrance into Sleepy Hollow, that the charm of the local- 
ity was, to him, no fiction. There was even a boyish 
eao-erness in his delio-ht at lookiuo- around him, and 
naming, as we drove along, the localities and their associa- 
tions. He did not seem to remember that he had written 
about it, but enjoyed it all as a scene of childhood, then 
for the first time revisited. I shall never forget the sud- 
den earnestness with which he leaned forward as we 
passed close under a side-hill heavily wooded, and 
exclaimed, " There ai'e the trees where I shot ray first 
squirrels, when a boy !" And, till the turn of the road put 
that hillside out of sight, he kept his eyes fixed with 
absorbed e;irnesti)ess upon it, evidently forgetful of all 
around him but the past rambles and boy-dreams which 
the scene had vividlv recalled. You will understand, dear 



* " I mention tliis peaceful spot with all possible laud ; for it is in such lit- 
tle retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great State 
of New York, that population, manners, and customs, remain fixed ; while the 
great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant 
changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. 
They are like those nooks of still water which border a rapid stream ; where 
we may see the straw and bubble rising quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving 
in the mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though 
many j-ears have passed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, j'et 
I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families 
vegetating in its sheltered bosom." — Sketch Book, 



MoNiTMEXT OP Major Andre. 139 

Morris, how this little point was wonderfully charming to 
me — being such a literal verification, as it were, of one of 
the passages of his description of the spot, and one of 
those, too, of which the music lingers longest in the ear ! 
" I recollect " (he says) " that when a stripling, my first 
exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut- 
trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered 
into it at noon-time, when all Nature is peculiarly quiet, 
and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke 
the Sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and rever- 
berated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a 
retreat whither I mio-ht steal from the v/orld and its dis- 
tractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a 
troubled life, I know of none more promising than this 
little valley." And, to drive through " this little valley " 
with the man who had so written of it, and have him 
point out " the tall walnut-trees " with such an outburst of 
boyish recollection — why, it was like entering with Thom- 
son, under the very portcullis of the "Castle of Indo- 
lence !" 

I should mention, by the way, that we pulled up, for a 
moment, opposite the monument of Major Andre, a marble 
shaft, standing at the side of the road and designating the 
spot (mentioned in " Sleepy Hollow ") where that unfortu- 
nate man was captured. I could not read the whole 
inscription, in the single minute that our impatient horses 



140 The Convalescent. 

stood before it, but the concluding sentence, in larger let- 
ters, stood out boldly — "History tells the rest," — 
and it was tbrilling to read that reference to a more endur- 
ing record than marble, and turn one's eyes upon the hand 
by which the imperishable words had been just written ! 

We rattled alonof, with a very davlis^ht disre2:ard of 
" apparitions," past the " bridge of logs," which is such a 
haunted spot to the school-boys, and where the mounted 
Ichabod first felt the full terror of his pokerish ride ; but, 
though I looked right and left for some trace of what 
frightened old " Gunpowder," it was not, it seemed to me, 
even a scary-looking spot — not only no footprints visible of 
the steed of the " headless horseman," but no posterity of 
pumpkins such as would spring naturally from the seed of 
Brom Bone's missile. Of course I have no manner of 
doubt of the entire veracity of the story ; but would it not 
look better, dear Mr. Irving (assisting thus, the trembling, 
hesitating faith of a world so unbelieving), to broider the 
brook-sides around with a visible sio^n or two — sowino- the 
fertile spot, I mean to say, with a supposititious family of 
haunted pumpkins. 

A more beautiful intricacy of hill and dale than that 
winding road through Sleepy Hollow, I never saw. Every- 
thing in it seemed so precisely of the enjoyable size — woods, 
meadows, slopes, thickets and cornfields, all in the come-at- 
able and cozy quantity that looks just what you want 



Character of Scenery. 141 

though too little for care. To have such a valley within 
horseback distance — a labyrinth to disappear into, when 
one wishes to be lost sight of by the world and by one's 
own troubled thoughts — is indeed a luxury of neighbor- 
hood. Mr. Irving sighed judiciously for it when young 
(in the sweet words just quoted), and he has enviably 
made his home so near it now. Beautiful as Sunny side is, 
upon the bank of the wide-awake Hudson, it has Sleepy 
Hollow, with its tangled scenery, for a fly-net to troubled 
thoughts, just behind it. And, that he enjoys it, as all 
readers of the Sketch-Book — millions of them on both sides 
the water — would fervently pray that he might do, there 
was evidence, that afternoon, in the tranquil heart-smile so 
Indian-summered on his countenance. 

After regaining the turnpike, at the other end of Sleepy 
Hollow, we made a call on Mr. Bartlett, at his famous 
country-seat which is allowed to be the most successful 
combination of taste and luxury in our country — house and 
grounds altogether nobly magnificent and seated worthily 
on one of the most commanding eminences of the Hudson 

^but my " well of wonder " was at ihe full. Promising 

myself, some day, a tramp with saddle-bags up and down 
the river, and take a leisurely look at all the marvels of 
taste and luxury on both sides, I was glad, for this time, to 
get away — ^glad to have my mind again, for its already 
eaten feast. 



142 The Convalescent. 

We drove rapidly towards Tarrytown, where I was to 
take the evening train for home ; and, as we neared it, Mr. 
Irving pointed out to me the oldest church between Albany 
and New York, a small stone structure, whose narrow win- 
dows look as if they might have served also the purpose of 
embrasures — the church a citadel of retreat in the Indian 
wars. And, not far from it, was the burying-ground, to 
which, lately, the remains of the deceased members of the 
Irving family have been brought, from the business-crowded 
graveyards of the city. In a subdued tone, scarce audible, 
as if he were unconsciously thinking, aloud during the 
silence with which we looked upon the spot, Mr. Irving 
said, "It is my own resting-place, and I shall soon be 
there." And, neither in the cadence with which the words 
fell from his lips, nor in the change of expression which 
the stir of a deeper feeling naturally threw over the fea- 
tures, was there either paiufulness or surprise. The utter- 
ance he had given to it was evidently the " calling by 
name " a familiar and welcome thought. 

Our fast horses had performed their afternoon's work to 
very nice calculation ; and, in a minute or two after arriv- 
ing at Tarrytown, I had taken leave of our efficient host 
and his delightful carriage-load, and was on my way to 
Idlewild with the evening train. We ran up to Undercliff 
in half an hour or so, and, whirling past, I tossed a vesper 
blessing upon the echo of our wheels which of course 



Mr. Irving's Charm of Personal Character. 143 

reached you ; and, as the evening star came out with her 
" obituary notice " of the departed day, I was at home — 
telling my wonderful adventures in Sleepy Hollow to the 
children who had sat up to hear them. 

Of course I had often seen Mr. Irvina* — in the turmoil of 
the city and in the quiet of Idlewild — but I had never tried 
to understand, till this varied and delightful day, wherein 
lay the wondrous charm of his personal character and man- 
ner. Like everj^body else who is so happy as to know him, 
I have yielded to the spell without caring to analyze it ; 
and I do not know that I can speak with better knowledge 
of it now. I have brought away the impression, however, 
I may venture to say, that a modesty amounting almost to 
diffidence (a narrow escape, perhaps, of a want of suffi- 
cient self-confidence for the world we live in), and a most 
unusual degree of instinctive deferential courtesy^ are the 
two natural qualities at the bottom of it. His intellectual 
culture, and his refinement ajid knowledge of the world, 
have, of course, given grace and ease to these sometimes 
embarrassing restraints; and genius, of course, with its 
intuiliveness of perception, does that finer justice with its 
looks and words which is so agreeable in social inter- 
course ; but, in his presence, all alike seem made happier. 
" Mr. Irving " though it is, and far better worth expressing 
as is his thought than your own, he would rather listen 
than talk. And age, curiously enough, has not in the 



144 The Convalescent. 

least diminished his susceptivity. He gives to all that 
is said, the mood of attention which is most flattering to it 
— playful or grave with equal willingness and skill — 
reflecting what is offered to him, in his Claude-Lorraine 
glass of response, so that the sayer, at its return to him, is 
more pleased than when he said it. I noticed so often 
during that day of most familiar gossip, that no sentence 
of Irving's ever so lightly interrupted, was willingly resumed 
— no expression of a thought persevered in, if the listener 
took the thread up for himself. And yet this is the man 
who says — (quite sincerely, too, I have no doubt) — " I pro- 
fess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. 
To me they have always been matters of riddle and admira- 
tion." 

4: ^ ^ % ^ ^ ^ 

There was another leaf, my dear Morris, to the torn-up 
letter which I have thus rescued and put together — a con- 
cluding glance at Irving's literary career, as developed in 
his more recent worl^, the "Life of Washington," the last 
volume of which he told me he was about sitting down to 
— but I will reserve that topic for a review. Closing 
where we are, this most venturesome personal mention of 

him, I remain. 

Yours always. 



LETTER XVIII. 

Ck)ntaiiimg a Curious Story of a Hard-run Squirrel and two Celebrated 

Editors, 

November 20. 
With such a gloom over every fireside in tlie country, it 
might seem unfeeling, even if it were possible, to write gaily 
to you. The choice, however, between this apparent neces- 
sity to be grave, and the advisableness, on the other hand, of 
so toning our weekly music for the home circle as to change 
the key of their oppressive monotone of sadness, is, just 
now (for my otherwise willing pen), a most trying embar- 
rassment. It is a common method of consolation, how- 
ever, to show the sufferer, by parallel cases, that his calam- 
ity is but Nature's law — borrowing the illustrations from 
things animate or inanimate — and on this principle, I will 
venture to tell you a story of a hard-run squirrel and 
HIS DEPOSITS. As the two gentlemen who " made the run" 
upon the banks in which the little stockholder was inter- 
ested, were no less personages than two of the most cele- 
brated journalists of New York, (Dana and De Tro- 
briand), the fidelity of a reporter for the press will be 

*l 145 



146 The Convalescent. 

expected of me. Two other gentlemen who were witnesses 
of the " operation," (Hicks and Kensett, artists so well 
known to fame), are at hand, to correct any inaccuracy. 
My narrative, therefore, I take pains thus carefully to pre- 
mise, may be looked upon as inevitably veracious. 

It was an Indian summer's day at Idlewild — ten a.m. 
and breakfast just over. With the four gentlemen who 
had given us a charming, quartette of brain pjay, over our 
coffee and bannocks, I led off with thick shoes and walk- 
ing-stick — a quiet conversation-loiter through the glen, 
with the autumnal idleness of the air, being voted prefer- 
able to a drive. Ladies bade adieu to, for the morning, 
we took it leisurely from the back-door opening into the 
many aisles of our cathedral of fir-trees — even the smoke 
of my friends' cigars overpowered by the incense of Na- 
ture's evergreen worship swinging fragrantly from the 
countless censers of pine-tassels. 

[Those last few lines, being rather poetical, may be omit- 
ted in the afiidavy.] 

We were bound, first, to the upper cascade ; but, more 
at home than the others, in the wild tangles of the ravine, 
our friend De Trobriand, (the gay " chronicler " of the 
French journal of New York) had preferred to follow the 
drip-rock path, under the precipices closer to the brook. 
And I may so far anticipate my story as to record, that, in 
consequence of this blind belief in his own better guid- 



A Hard-run Squirrel and Two Editors. 147 

ance to the spot, the wilful Baron got a tumble over the 
rocks — so bruising an exceedingly well developed leg (to 
the polished plumptitude of which I admiringly called atten- 
tion, while Dana, his brother journalist of the Tribune, 
tenderly Florence-Nightingaled the bruises from a bottle ot 
arnica), that he is likely to be a " better boy next time." 

But, to my narrative. 

You remember our upper falls, and the single plank 
bridging the cascades at their middle leap. We had idled 
thus far, by the crooked path along the southern slope of 
the ravine, and, having crossed to the sunny side, were 
waiting for the Baron to overtake us. I had wiled the 
time by pointing out, to the two artists, the tall cliff, fifty 
feet above, which (to my mental eye) is crowned always 
with a tableau vivant of memory. There stands the be- 
loved Bayard Taylor — for, as he bathed, one summer's 
day, in the rocky basin below the fall, he was suddenly 
seized with an adventurous desire to see the view from the 
foam-encircled peak, so apparently inaccessible ; and, clad 
simply in his hat (the point to which his toilet had arrived 
when the thought occurred to him), he had dashed through 
the spray and bounded with the agility of an antelope to 
the summit ; and there, giddily poised, with arm uplifted, 
he had called to me in delighted wonder at the scene — the 
handsomest of unconscious ApoUos, as he stood relieved 
against the sky, clad only in his happiness and his hat. 



148 The Convalescent. 

And, to the base of the same cliflf, Hicks was now scram- 
bling, with the intention probably to put the vision on can- 
vas, and endeavoring to realize it, as far as was possible in 
his broadcloth and boots. And below, on the edge of the 
rapids, stood Kensett, his inspiring hand pulling at one 
end of his silken moustache, while his deep brown eyes were 
fixed dreamily on the sun-flecks in the foaming water. And 
the two Pressditti, meantime, (Dana and myself), seated 
on the rocks with professional decorum, were exchanging 
in friendly gossip, the public opinion that we probably 
should have been respectfully manufacturing, had we been 
seated at our editorial work-benches. 

Suddenly there was a flutter among the dry leaves ; and 
along the giddy foot-path, hewn out of the slaty side of the 
precipice below the bridge, tripped the tamest of little 
squirrels. He took it leisurely, stopping every now and 
then and seating himself in his auto-easy-chair of a tail ; 
and presently, (the squirrel as we anticipated, being an 
avant-courier,) our expected loiterer limped slowly around 
the cliff. There was a dash of sadness over the fine-cut 
features of the Baron ; and, in answer to our tender in- 
quiries as to his biography for the previous fifteen minutes, 
he entered upon the history of his decadence. 

[And here commenced the panic of the dealer in corn- 
stocks.] 

Whether frightened at the liveliness of our friend's well- 



A Hard-run Squirrel and Two Editors. 149 

known powers of description, or at tlie slight French accent 
that still lingers in his wonderful fluency of English, the 
squirrel, at the first rush of emphasis in the Baron's tale, 
started from his. Down went those enviable limbs that 
serve alike the purposes of legs or arms, and away he 
scudded up the bank. But the bank was steep, and the 
gesticulating arms of the tall foreigner looked formidably 
prehensile. There was but one alternative — the bridge 
across the chasm. But alas ! with his loss of " confidence " 
the little corn-mono-er's usual foresio-ht had forsaken him. 
He did not look ahead far enough to see, that, instead of 
taking him to the safe side of the glen, that narrow bridge 
ended in the very centre of a "large town in Cappa- 
docia." * Dana was astride of the far end of that single 
plank, his formidable lap presenting a toll-gate that 
there was no manner of getting round. Two-thirds across 
before he discovered this, the fugitive turned to go 
back. But, with the quickness of a practised sportsman, 
De Trobriand had closed up the retreat. Stopping in 
his story at the sight of the squirrel's blunder, he sprung 
to the bridge, and dropped his Parisian boots on either 
side of the plank ; and, there sat the two — a parenthesis 
of editors inclosing a very reasonably frightened topic of 
discussion ! 

* Dana, a large town of Cappadocia. — Classical Dictionary. 



150 The Convalescent. 

[And now comes a phenomenon of natural history, 
to which I beg to call the attention of Professor Agas- 
si z.] 

After running backwards and forwards, in terrified per- 
plexity, for two or three minutes, the little victim came to 
a stand still and proceeded coolly to reason upon it. He 
looked first at one side and then at the other. The two 
ends of the plank were laid on the ledges of the two oppos- 
ite banks, and, by jumping across the barricade of the 
Tribune on one side, or that of the Courrier des Mats Unis 
on the other, he might, at least, land on a rocky precipice 
wdth the danger only of slipping ofl" as he should alight, 
and so falling into the torrent below. 

And this he decided to do — but, observe the almost 
human reason shown in his two or three subsequent expe- 
dients ! 

His two cheek-pouches (he was a ground-squirrel, you 
understand, one of the tamias lysteri, with pockets in his 
face), were swollen to their utmost distension with his morn- 
ing's pick-up of provender. With a knowing alternation 
of his sharp eyes from one desperate outlet to the other, he 
evidently made up his mind that it would be easier to over- 
leap the Frenchman than the Yankee ; but he came to the 
conclusion also after carefully measuring the jump, that he 
could not doit, and carry weight. He quietly disgorged, 
therefore, upon the centre of the plank, eight or ten kernels 



A Hard-run Squirrel and Two Editors. 151 

of corn, and thus lightened, run to the edge. But here a 
new thouofht occurred to him. 

You recollect the long hickory sapling which serves as 
a balustrade to that otherwise giddy bridge over the 
torrent. Up one of the pine cleats which support this 
slight railing, ran the squirrel, evidently seeing that he 
could jump to more advantage from this higher point. 
But sitting here for a moment, to gather his courage and 
his forces, he bethought himself, that, toith the jump thus 
made easier, he might carry more weight ; and, descending 
again to the bridge, he picked up one-half of his previously 
disgorged corn, stowed it safely in his cheek-pockets, ascended 
again to the top of the railing, and made the jump he had 
previously projected. To my great relief, he alighted safely, 
and, with the wreck he had saved from his threatened 
bankruptcy, he ran up the slanting ledge of the precipice 
and disappeared. 

Here were certainly evidences of uncommon intelligence 
in this little animal — his sudden command of coolness in 
emergency, his deliberate choice between two evils, his 
prudential lessening of hindrance, his reconsideration of 
plan after a new light upon the matter, and the final proof 
how wisely he had calculated the possible savings from his 
first over-hasty " assignment," and how well he had mea- 
sured his powers for the last desperate leap. It is a story 



« 



152 The Convalescent. 

■worthy of perusal in Wall street, or of copying into 
Thompson's Bank-note Reporter. 

Our two artist friends had climbed up the cliff and were 
spectators, like myself, of this interesting little pantomime 
— ^five of us, as I before said, to certify to its literal veracity. 
The great Natural Philosopher of Harvard will be safe, 
therefore, in enriching Science with the data thus circum- 
stantially recorded. 

The squirrel drama concluded, we went on our winding 
way through the tangles of the ravine — scrambling, loiter- 
ing, and gossiping, amid the autumn leaves and the golden 
sunshine, and along the rapids of the brook — and, at the 
country dinner-time of two, reached home, happy and hun- 
gry. As I have already mentioned, the baron's bleeding 
abrasures were tenderly ministered to by his two brother 
editors, before dinner, and the remainder of the day was 
given over to a blessed forgetfulness of news, and the con- 
sequent social spontaneities. 

And thus, dear Morris, you have a true leaf from my day- 
book at Tdlewild, and T remain 

Yours as ever. 



LETTER XIX. 

Ancient Duty of Hospitality— Chance for it at Newburgli— The Boats up and 
down — Trip to Poughkeepsie — Passengers on the Day-boat— Missing the Down- 
boat — Adventures in Poughkeepsie — The splendid Straw Hat for a Sign, and 
its Eager Acquisition — A whole Child, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, September. 185Y. 

It was an ancient duty of hospitality to see a parting 

guest a mile upon his way ; and, at just about the cost and 

trouble of the one farewell mile of old times, the resident 

upon the Hudson can now make it a farewell of ten, twenty, 

or thirty. To step on board the steamer with a friend, and 

go up or down the river to the first or second landing-place 

beyond, and return by the counter-boat, up or down, is not 

only a matter of no trouble and of very trifling cost, but it 

forms a most agreeable excursion of an hour or two — 

familiarizing the eye to the beautiful scenery of the river, 

and terminating a period of hospitality with the excitement 

of a pleasure. 

Newburgh is particularly well placed for this kind of 

excursion. Taking the " morning boat'' which starts down 

the river, at seven, we disembark, an hour after, at West 

Point ; walk up and see the parade and hear the band ; 

re-embark in the " up-boat" at ten, and land again at New- 

^ * 158 



164 The Convalescent. 

burgh at eleven. More variety could scarcely be com- 
pressed into four hours (all for twenty-five cents passage 
each way !) the seeing of strangers and meeting of acquaint- 
ances on two difierent steamers, the glide each way 
through the magnificent pass of the Highlands, the unsur- 
passed scenery of West Point and its military parade and 
music — amusements so thickly crowded, and the pleasure, 
besides, of accompanying a friend ten miles upon his 
journey. 

Or if, instead of returning to the city, the departing 
guest is bound to Niagara or the Springs, w^e embark upon 
the " wp-boat" which touches at eleven, and which reaches 
Poughkeepsie (fifteen miles above) a few minutes before 
the " down-hoa.t''^ touches at the same place to bring us back 
to Newburgh ; an excursion of thirty miles (for the same 
money), the scenery most lovely, the absence only three 
hours ; and the Hudson River rail-train coming along every 
two hours, either to expedite the return or to remedy any 
shortcomings by delay or irregularity of boats. The cen- 
tral position of Newburgh, between two such starting-points 
as Albany and New York — the half-way stopping-place on 
such a crowded and universal thorouo-hfare as the Hudson 
River — gives it these advantages for pleasure as well as for 
convenience, making it the most desirable neighborhood in 
the whole country for either summer stay or permanent 
residence. The romantic scenery, and the exceeding 



A Drive to Newburgh. 155 

healthfulness of its mountain air, are charms which speak 
for themselves ; and when the proposed railroad to the 
East shall meet the line of our Erie Branch, making New- 
burgh the centre of the largest cross of travel in this 
western world, it is likely to be more quarrelled for, by- 
Business and Taste, than was ever spot of earth before — 
these two great money-spillers striving, (while Storm- 
King and Skunnemunk look on) to see which shall sooner 
build up or more give its own character to our mountain 
metropolis. 

This geography and these local statistics, however, are 
altogether in spite of the intention astride this evening upon 
my quill. I started to jot down only what personal adven- 
tures befell us recently, in performing the duty of hospital- 
ity specified above, viz. accompanying a party of our 
friends as far as Poughkeepsie, on their way from our quiet 
hermitage to Saratoga. We had a befalling or two, from 
lack of foresight and management, the narration of which 
may possibly be instructive, no less for the information it 
contains than as showing the practice of a virtue under 
difficulties. 

It was a brilliant morning when our accommodating 
" census" (the green wagon, so called, which makes a daily 
report of our family population on the road) stood at the 
door. We were to drive our friends to Newburgh to take 
the Albany " day-boat up ;" and the thought of accompany- 



156 The Convalescent. 

ing them as far as Pougbkeepsie was rather impromptu — 
the suggestion being acceded to immediately, however, as 
our absence (by boat) would be only three hours, and the 
horses had stood many a time longer than that, constant to 
a certain affectionate stone post, and with a busily thronged 
sidewalk to amuse them. Dinner was'to wait us but an 
hour later than usual, and, with sighs and good-byes 
pocketed for the present, we joyously devoured the five 
miles of summer's morning spread like a feast between 
Idlewild and Newburgh. 

The " x\.lida" came alono- rather later than usual — wind 
and tide against her and no competition — and the admira- 
bly arranged decks and saloons (for she is quite the most 
luxuriously contrived as well as fastest boat on the river) 
were comfortably thronged with passengers. The steam- 
family of a day to which we were thus added had the " new 
sprinkle" observable at present in all our crowds — a 
returned Californian or two, out on excursions for pleasure 
with their lejoined waives and children. The ready-made 
clothes ^Yhich so faintly smart up the worn-out and 
exhausted husband with his fierce eye and dyed beard ; the 
unaccustomed and ill-chosen millinery of the care-worn and 
newly fashionable mother; and the awkward-feeling child' 
ren with their new shoes, gingerbread and candy, are 
groups to be seen, just now, in the drawing-rooms of all 
our hotels, and on board all our steamers and rail- cars. 



Trip to Poughkeepsie. 15t 

Was there ever a country before, where the consciousness 
of gentility and equality could be assumed, without a mis- 
giving, in a day — where every man actually feels that he is 
''as good as anybody" with but the means to dress and 
travel ? Awkwardly as they do it, and ill at ease as they 
must now and then be, from a comparison which their 
sharp eyes cannot avoid, there is a charm in the fi-eedom to 
try it which makes America a Paradise. It will be long 
before there will be instances of emigration back again, to 
the lands of smock-frocks and velveteen Sunday-clothes. 

As we approached Poughkeepsie, we discovered, to our 
surprise and disappointment, that the race with the " oppo- 
sition line " had so combined with wind and tide to hasten 
the coming along of the "down-boat" (by which we 
expected to return) that both steamers were leaving the 
landing as we approached it — this unusual precedence of 
arrival reducing us to the alternative of a passage back by 
the earliest passing train upon the railroad. Sighs over 
the horses we had left tied to the stone post at Newburgh, 
and prayers for their resignation to prolonged flies and 
hunger, were mingled with the farewells to our friends ; 
and both were very considerably set " to music " — the 
steam-engine of the " Glencove " gasping out Yankee 
Doodle as she sped down the river, and the other boat 
having a competition band in full operation as she gave 
chase. A hasty inquiry, upon the pier, informed us that 



158 The Convalescent. 

a " down-train " had just gone by — another not to start 
before two hours and a half! And, for that interminable 
time (with unfed horses tied to a post fifteen miles off), we 
were adrift upon Poughkeepsie. 

But things began presently to look better. To all four 
of us, Poughkeepsie was entirely new. My three com- 
panions had only passed it in steamer and rail-car, and I 
but remembered it as the place where we used to get 
excellent waffles, in the days of stage-coaching to Albany 
We had stumbled on a pleasure unexpectedly — a ramble 
in a strange place with nobody to know us ! New shops, 
perfect liberty to look in at the windows ! New people 
and ourselves to do the starino; and remarkino*. To one 
of the ladies of our party more especially — a most distin- 
guished and lovely person — it was something of a let-up to 
have a whole town, in which, for a delightful hour or two, 
she could be nobody in particular! Ah, what easing of 
unobserved hats ! what loosing of prim bonnet-strings and 
letting go of ceremonious arms ! The human soul is natu- 
rally a vagabond — we all agreed as we gipsied, loose and 
happy, through the streets of Poughkeepsie. 

Away from home (most persons have observed,) 
Nature's inward clock resumes its simple periodicity ; and 
it was exactly noon when we all made a simultaneous 
confession of appetite — stopping with desiring eyes before 
a row of musk-melons spread on the sidewalk in front of 



Adventures in Poughkeepsie. 159 

a vegetable shop at a prominent corner. In the portly- 
figure and trustworthy features of the gentleman behind 
the counter in the cellar (for it was two steps down from 
the sidewalk, and it is curious how vegetables, like oysters, 
seem only genuine when offered subterraneously for sale), 
we recognized, as we supposed, both an influential citizen 
and a responsible judge of ripe melons. We venture to 
warn Poughkeepsie, however, that "John Brooks" (the 
name on the sign) is, at least, not the latter. With a full 
disavowal of our own inexperience, we trustfully and affec- 
tionately threw ourselves on his practised knowledge ; and 
four more melon-cholic unripenesses have not come to a pre- 
mature end this fruitful season, than those which I carried 
on my arm for a believing distance, through the street, 
having faith in John Brooks and looking out for knives 
and forks in some friendly shelter. In the back parlor of 
an " Ice-Cream Saloon " — a snug apartment furnished with 
a Bible and Hymn-book, four chairs, two tables and a 
looking-glass — we finally sat down to our disappointments. 
It was rather a " piling on of the agony " to propose ice- 
cream and lemonade (the only articles for sale on the pre- 
mises), as we tasted our last raw expectation ; but it will 
show where consolation is to be found in extremity, when 
I state, that as my eyes chanced to fall on the large family 
Bible (to which, and the looking-glass, the good woman's 
customers were evidently welcome free of charge), behold, 



160 The Coxvalescent. 

upon the top of it, a loaf of bread, just left by the baker ! 
Poughkeepsie is rich in the maker of such bread ; it is the 
object of this paragraph to say, crisper crust and lighter 
soft came never from a baker's oven. We sat around this 
single loaf, thankfully and appetizingly, and made our 
noon meal — upon it, and it only. It would be a favor to 
our Poughkeepsie subscribers if I had thought to bring 
away the name of such bread's baker. I can neither give 
that, nor the name of the good woman of whom they 
would do well to inquire it. She had no sign, if I remem- 
ber rightly — but her shop and Bible are just above the 
" Shampooing Saloon " of " George Grimm," and a little 
below the milliner's window in which stands advertised the 
" Agency for Mrs. Durno's medicines " — (the connection 
between which two branches of business, by the way, we 
tried in vain to conjecture), 

Poughkeepsie differs from Newburgh in having its shop- 
ping-street high on the hill instead of down by the river. 
The shops (and we sighed for a cooler climb, in mounting 
to them under a noonday sun), are wonderfully metropoli- 
tan — quite ahead, indeed, of our own thriving little 
country-town, in that gay particular. We wondered most 
at the unprecedented preponderance of shoe-stores. How 
can three-fourths of the business of a town (and the pjo- 
portion is that, at least), be occupied with the supply of 
this comparatively minor human want? There were some 



A Splendid Straw Hat for a Sign. 161 

German shoemakers among them, and we noticed a " lager 
bier " shop, bj the way, with a word for its sign — ^welkom- 
MEN — (the German for welcome, I believe), which would 
be a charming name for a hospitable man's country-seat. 
It sounds well and means well. There was another sion 
hung out in front of a blacksmith's shop — a live' rat sus- 
pended by the tail to a lamp-post — but it would be follow- 
ing the custom of too many travellers to speak of a single 
instance of incidental cruelty as common to the place. By 
the complete inattention of the blacksmith's boys (who 
were hammering away at the forge without even a look at 
their struggling victim), he had the aggravation of being 
forgotten before death — and, of such treatment (much 
worse than the mortal agony, for those of whom the world 
makes examples), Poughkeepsie should at least be inca- 
pable. 

I have a tribute to offer to Poughkeepsie — let me hasten, 
after this, qualifyingly to say. Broadway must yield to it 
in hats ! As every gentleman knows, the type of this 
article of man's attire had sadly degenerated, of late years 
— ^no such thing as a covering for the head, which is in any 
way becoming, being now, anywhere, obtainable. The 
world's idea of the article has become confused. What 
was the surprise of my dressy friend B. (the guest who had 
accompanied us) and myself, therefore, to see before us, in 
the street of Poughkeepsie — hung out upon a projecting 



162 The Convalescent. 

wire in front of Mr. Van Kleeck, the hatter — a very 
admirable model of a hat! We stopped suddenly and 
silently before it. A living mastodon, unicorn, or specimen 
of any extinct race of animals, would have been a hardly 
less wondrous apparition. It was not a dress hat — not of 
beaver or its imitations. It was simply of coarse straw ; 
and (we found presently, on inquiry) made originally to 
be hung out as a sign. To this happy accident was owing 
its escape from the Decline of Head-coverings — (in which, 
by the way, let us venture to remark, the heads of the 
other sex are even further gone than our own) — and 
though dusted and discolored by the sun and rain (for we 
understood that it had swung three summers unrecognized 
at the shop-door), the type of its first form was still visible. 
In the amplitude and ease of brim, in the reciprocal pro- 
portion of brim and crown, and in the oneness of utility 
and grace, there was an ideal that Vandyke or Titian 
would have conceived — supposing that either of those 
head-honoring artists, that is to say, had been employed by 
Beebe (with the aid of a "medium,") to take the modern 
hat and conceive upon it a fashion for ^56. It was a hat 
liberal without slouchiness, faultless and unsuperfluous 
without being meanly neat, pliable enough for the head 
and yet elastically firm enough not to caricature itself by 
losing shape with handling or a high wind. Nobody 
stares at it particularly (for I have worn it now a week), 



A Whole Child. 163 

yet it would have beeu a hat to look better in, a hundred 
years ago, or to look better in a hundred years hence. 
Poughkeepsie's one immortal production for seventy-five 
cents ! 

A wonderfully beautiful child, sitting on Mr. Van 
Kleeck's counter, confirmed my opinion that the Titian- 
esque hat was not altogether a thing of accident. The 
sense of beauty (by the two proofs of efi"ortless paternity 
— the production of matchless hat and child), resides, 
perhaps unconsciously, in the Poughkeepsie hatter. So 
singular was the beauty of this little girl of six years old, 
that my friend and I went back for our ladies (who were 
resting at the ice-cream saloon while we took an additional 
walk), bringing them a long distance in the hot sun rather 
than let them lose the sight of her. Her large brown eyes 
were glowing warmly in a face of Roman mould. Not a 
feature was unfulfilled of its errand of development, and 
the smile and the look upwards, as we spoke to her, were 
noble and calmly good. Such marvels of Nature's mean- 
ing^ all expressed^ should be set aside and kept to be the 
mothers of our Presidents. With the human form deo-en- 
crating on our continent (as I fear there is no denying 
that it is-— by our overwork, hurry-feeding and base excite- 
ments), it is worth a town's while to pride itself on its 
exceptions — the producing and cherishing of them. How 
much worthier of education and costly care is such a 



164 The Convalescent. 

simply whole child, than the pale little overdressed puny- 
isms — stunted with indigestion and spoilt temper — that 
one sees at the hotels and watering-places ! 

But our happy two hours and a half of vagabondage 
were meantime diminishing ; and, with Mr. Van Kleeck's 
sign in my hand (done up in a respectable newspaper bun- 
dle till out of reach of the inhabitants to whose eyes it 
had been long familiar), we returned down street to the 
railway. Various brilliant shops had attracted our atten- 
tion. In hardware and dry goods Poughkeepsie certainly 
eclipses ISTewburgh — our streets of villas and private resi- 
dences, however, having an abundantly compensating 
superiority to those of Poughkeepsie. We were pleased 
by receiving a polite bow from Mr. John Brooks, whom we 
chanced to meet at a little distance from his cellar — a 
recognition of our melon-cholic custom which spoke well 
for the town's prompt eye to business. Two droll names 
on signs attracted our attention — " EIvy Deyo,'' and " F. 
Groscop." The steam-whistle was punctual. We took 
our places in the cars, and in half an hour were at Fishkill 
— in half an hour more across by Ferry to IS'ewburgh — 
and in half an hour more (the stone post having proved 
strong enough to hold our horses, flies and hunger notwith- 
standing), we were within sight of our dinners at Idlewild. 



LETTER XX. 

Jake and Quinty once more — A Poem to Jake's Memory — The Dog the Under- 
valued of this Earth— De Trobriand's Obituary of Jake— Present of anew Dog, 
.from a Stranger— Bell's getting him Home — Jerry's Character and his hatred 
of a Gentleman — Bianca Raventail and Kitty Grizzle — ^Dog Friendship and 
its Nature— Monody on Quinty, by a Distinguished Lady of Boston, etc. 

October, 1857. 
Pardon should, perhaps, be asked, of the kind and indul- 
gent reader, for another reference to the two deceased 
friends of whose virtues I wrote in the Home Journal 
of a previous date. My two dogs, Jake and Quinty 
were there mourned over ; and, (after an obituary, if not 
before), the grass of forgetfulness upon such humble graves 
may be left to grow. I have received, however, to-day, a 
poem of such affectionate commemoration of Jake, my 
favorite of the two, that I cannot resist given it to the 
reader — thanking tenderly, at the same time, the stranger 
thus bravely willing to own to a sympathy with a four- 
legged sorrow. Let me premise, only, that the theory upon 
which the poem is woven (the comfort of a refuge in 
friendship when too old for love) was scarce applicable to 
Jake, who died in the prime and pride of puppyism una- 
bated — loving and spunky, I believe to his dying hour. 

166 



166 The Convalescent. 

The departed tail (I understood his previous mistress to 
saj) had wagged but four brief years ; and his transfer to 
Idlewild, of course, was not from superannuation. With 
this sliQ'ht correction, the tribute to his meraorv reads 
touchingly and truly : 

"JAKE"— A REQUIEM. 

Sing a requiem for Jake, 

Once so beautiful and young ; 
Sleeping now, no more to wake ; 

Let a solemn dirge be sung ! 
Weep, oh willow, o'er his head — 
Jake is dead ! 

Born to be a beauty's pet, 

Nurtured in her maiden lap ; 
Ah, methinks I see him yet, 

Sipping from her palm his pap ! 
In that paradise with her, 
Happy cur ! 

Sped the time — and how he grew ! 

Pleasures, ah, how swift they move ! 
Blissful moments, how they flew ! 

Jake was soon too old to love. 
Gentle, joyous, strong and bold. 
But too old ! 

Oh, the cheating dream of youth ! 

Oh, the dreary days beyond ! 
Dog or man how sad the truth : — 

Woman's heart no more is fond 
When the bloom of youthful years •-. 

Disappears ! 



A Poem to Jake's Memory. 16t 

Jake must find another home ; 

Jake must find another heart ; 
Wheresoever he may roam, 

Now from her he must depart ! 
Go it, Jake ! the fates have smiled — • 
Idlewild ! 

Leave a mistress — find a friend — 

Find affection yb?' th^/ loorth^ 
Lasting, till thy life shall end 1 

And, beside his glowing hearth, 
Growl defiance to despair 
And the fair. 

Up the hill and down the glen, 

By the river, o'er the lea, 
Follow him my truthful pen ! 

What a happy dog was he ' 
Ever at his master's side 
TiU he died. 

Now no guardian at the gate. 

No swift herald at the door ; 
Bower and garden desolate, 

He is romping there no more ; 
Silent, avenue and lawn — 
Jake is gone ! 

Lay him kindly by the brook, 

Deep beside the resting stone. 
In the cool secluded nook 

Where he loved to muse alone ! 
This strange legend o'er him penned 
' A true friend. 

But with all the excuse that such charming poetry may- 
give, for cumbering the overladen memory of the world by 



168 The Convalescent. 

a re-mention of forgotten dogs, I have still a better apol- 
ogy for re-ci^r-ing to Jake and Quinty. I will beg the 
reader to let me be tediously instructive for a moment, 
while I explain. 

I have long had a feelmg that the Doa was among the 
Cruelly Undervalued of the earth. With qualities that are, 
every one, numbered among our rarest virtues, the mere 
mention of him is an expression of contempt. To say 
that any man is "a dog" vilifies him to the last extremity 
of language, while, if this same fellow being had the vir- 
tues of a dog he would be better thnn most men. With 
an intention in store to w-rite, some day, upon this 
flagrant wrong of misappreciation, (to do proper honor, 
that is to say, to the creature who is virtuous without pres- 
ent or future inducement — who is faithful, brave, constant, 
unselfish, docile and affectionate, with neither a good name 
in this world nor the promise of a heaven beyond), I at 
last expressed my sentiments incidentally in the tribute to 
my own two domesticated outdoers ; and of the moral ef- 
fect of this just though tardy tribute, I have evidence which 
rewards and delights me. A French gentleman, who had 
read the translation of the article (for it was admirably 
translated by our brilliant friend Baron de Trobriand? 
and republished in the Courrier des Mats- Unis), was met 
in Broadway with unusual eagerness in his countenance. 
*' I am out to find a dog, he said, to the friend who in- 



De Trobriand's Obituary of Jake. 169 

quired into his excitement and hurry. " Since reading 
about 'Jake,' I can live no longer unblest by such a friend- 
ship !" Perhaps it is worth while, both as a specimen of 
the exquisite translation by our friend and as a repetition 
of the vindicatory sentiment of which the effect was thus 
salutary, to quote again, in its more attractive French dress, 
the principal passage : 

" Ce serait une profanation de marquer d'une croix le rocher 
au pied duquel ces deux cWens airaes gisent enterres — et pour- 
tant combien d'homraes pour qui le Sauveur est mort peut etre, et 
sur la sepulture desquels il n'y aura pas de deuil pareil a celui. dans 
Icquel tout Idle Wild est plonge pour Jake et Quinty ; — combien 
qui remercieraient Dieu si seulenient la sainte croix de leur tombe 
devait etre arrosee d'autaut de pleurs qu'en ont verses nos enfanta 
sur ces pauvres animaux compagnons de leurs jeux! II est dur a 
croire que deux races aussi liees I'une a I'autre que I'horame et le 
chien, ne puissent pas se retrouver la haut — dur a comprendre-que 
certains chiens ne meritent pas d'etre sauves plus que certains 
hommes, et certains hoinmes de pourrir en terre profane et d'etre 
oublies a jamais plus que certains chiens. Creatures si intelligentes, 
et pourtant si soumisesanotre negligence — si sensibles et pourtant 
si pleines de pardon pour notre rudesse et notre ingratitude ! si 
douces quand nous ne semblons pas les aimer, si joyeuses quand 
nous leur temoignons quelque aifection ! si resignees meme a la 
faim quand nous ne sommes pas prets a les nourrir — merae a Forage 
et a la pluie quand nous les renvoyous d'un foyer petillant, pendant 
les units d'hiver, pour veiller sur notre sommeil dans des lits 
chauds ! Si prets a combattre et a mourir pour nous et les moin- 
dres cboses qui nous appartiennent ! Certainement, pour de pa- 
reilles qualites, bien qu'elles clieminent a quatre pattes — qualites 
qui honoreraient un chretien ou un heros — la religion devrait avoir 
quelque vestibule exterieur. II me semble que nous pouvons bien 
laisser Tenfaut prier pour que, dans ce ciel des humbles ou ou lui 
apprend que le mendiant qui regoit IV.umone peut etre place plu3 



I*r0 The Convalescent. 

haut que lui, il soit permis a son chien fidele de regarder au moinS 
par la porte ouverte." 

And to this sentiment of respect for Jake and Quinty 
there was still another response — curious enough in some 
of its particulars, perhaps to be interesting to the general 
reader. 

A gentleman, living at some distance (a stranger to us 
but a reader of the Home Journal) touched with the man- 
ner in which our heroic favorite had fallen a victim to a 
pack of prowling night-dogs, sent courteously to know if 
we would like '"'' an avenger of his death''' — he having a 
mastiff of very retributive size and temper whom he should 
be glad to present to us. Charmed with the idea of slee}>- 
ing at last in undisturbed peace and poultry, as well as with 
bringing Jake's outnumberers to speedy jaw and justice, I 
at once gratefully accepted the gift. The steamers were 
fixed upon by which he should be sent to New York and 
up the river; and (after some deliberation), it was decided 
that " Avenger " should be his name — "t/er-ry" (the last 
syllable softened and with a tail to it) for the nickname of 
his less terrible moments. 

On the night when Avenger was to arrive, the children 
■were allowed to " sit up " — their curiosity to have a sight 
at him, before going to bed, being quite too eloquent to 
resist. It was even more tedious waiting than we had 
anticipated, however. The evening boat had wind and 



Bell getting Jerry Home. Ill 

tide against her, and Don Cesar ,de Bazan (our iised-up- 
edest farm-horse who had o-one down in the lumber-wagon 
to bring up the dog) was habitualh' noncommittal in his 
moveuients. But the delays were not altogether in slow 
wheels and foundered knees. It was half-past ten before 
Bell made his appearance, looking like a man who had 
come out of a '^ free fight," and significantly wanting to 
know wliether there was anything more for him to do, that 
night ! '' That critter " was tied up in the stable, and he 
himself was " pretty nigh done." As to riding a mile 
iu a wagon, after dark, " with a new dog of that size," 
it had " called for what there was in him, of one sort and 
another," and he didn't much believe he should want to do 
it again. In fact the history of " bringing up that passen- 
ger from the boat " (which he was " too mad to give us 
that night," and " much as ever he could keep his dander 
down " to do it the next morning) was full of stirring 
event. " Jerry " was willing enough to come ashore at 
Cornwall ; but, to mount into a strange wagon and start on 
an unknown journey with a gentleman of rather compul- 
sory manners, was not to be done without some expression 
of dog reluctance. He scared everybody on the dock, 
" the way he flew round," and, once in, he did nothing but 
jump out and nearly upset the wagon, with his tremendous 
strength ; and the fear that he would " chaw off the rope, 
or hang himself" prevented the simply dragging hira be- 



1*12 The Convalescent. 

hind. It was '• nothing but stopping every few steps, and 
coaxino- and lifdno: him in ao;ain ;" and " an armful of dog: 
like that, on a dark niofht, when it was half and half 
whether he was going to let you," Bell thought "too risky 
for pleasure." I shall long remember his story of that mile 
of persuasion — especially since knowing more of the ani- 
mal's very-likely-bilities. 

With knowing that Avenger had come, and with hear- 
ing his bark, down at the stable (more like a Mammoth 
Cave with a hoarse cold than anything else), the children 
were obliged to be contented. They went to bed to dream 
of the monster it was not safe to go and see with only a 
lantern's knowledge of his length of rope ; and, the next 
morninor, lonoj before Bell had beo-un to rub down Poni- 
atowski (my boy's black pony, for which the dog would be 
a very feir match, in double harness) they were at the sta- 
ble door. It was an introduction without any mutual 
change of civility, and I must shorten this long story by 
comins: at once to the curious characteristics that have 
developed in a month's acquaintance, and which make the 
animal (it has seemed to me) worthy of zoological study. 
I have been obliged to part with him (I should meantime 
explain) as his opinions of people were considerably at va- 
riance with my own, and his tastes and manners (very 
likely, any day, to eat up the wrong man, that is to say) 
were of very improbable adaptation to Idlewild wishes. 



Jerry's Hatred of a Gentleman. 113 

Jerry, in the first place, we soon discovered, hated a 
gentleman. The contrary is commonly remarked of dogs, 
I believe — most of them having an instinctive preference 
for a well-bred and well dressed person. But, while work- 
ing-men and the various fishermen and others, who make 
our wooded lane a thoroughfare between the back roads 
and the river, were allowed to pass the stable wholly unno- 
ticed, the most hostile demonstration awaited every respect- 
ably dressed visitor or stranger. His classifications were a 
little curious, too, for his hatred of colored people 
amounted to a negro-phobia. He nearly demolished the 
dear old cook, on the first morning, though she went out 
to cultivate his acquaintance, with a plate of cold victuals 
in her hand ; and, as the members of our family bearing 
this objectionable complexion amount to six, his counter 
balancing fondness for children, of whom we have only 
four, did not equalize the vote in his favor. I was prepared 
for this latter avowal of his tastes, by our friend, Mr. Har- 
per, who chanced to come up the river with him, in the 
evening boat, and who told us it was quite a scene, on the 
forward deck where he was was tied — his ferocious unwil- 
lingness to be even approached by the black waiters, who 
were sent to feed him. They were obliged to get one of the 
white "hands" to do it, at last, and they afterwards 
-gathered quite a crowd by their various experiments at 
colored propitiation^ all in vain. 



174 The Convalescent. 

It was a charm in Jerry , however, that his likings were 
as strong as his dislikings ; and one of these, (though his 
unconquerable aversion to myself, would scarce lead me 
to look on him very poetically), amounted, I must own, to 
a poem. Let me premise by explaining that we have two 
cats in the family, of very dififerent standing and duties. 
Miss Bianca Ravential, a snow-white lady-puss with a 
jet-black tail, is of really magnificent beauty, and lives 
principally in the parlor — " lapt in Elysium," if children's 
laps can any way do it, but merely and indolently orna- 
mental. Plain Kitty Grizzle, on the contrary, has shown 
Qo manner of taste for society on carpets, never even 
approaching the house, and wholly content with the stable, 
where her mousings are invaluable — a shy, lean, ill-looking, ■I 
unsociable, grey little utility, whom we respect if ques- 
tioned on the subject, but for whom nobody feels any affec- 
tion. It was the first thought of every one, on seeing the 
cavernous jaw of the avenger, that either of the cats would ll 
be but a mouthful to him ; and an attempt was made to 
pre-monish him as to Bianca, by taking her in our arms 
and introducing her, at a safe distance, to his chained-up 
consideration and acquaintance. The savage ferocity with 
which he recognized her, however, and her own variations 
of ca^alepsy, while near him, satisfied us that friendly rela- 
tions between them, were even spasmodically unlikely ; and 
it was the continually repeated and exciting family drama, 



I 



Dog's Friexdship and its Nature. 175 

every day, as long as he stayed, to get down Miss Raventail 
from the tree in which she had taken refuge, and at the 
foot of which sat this devouring monster. 

But now comes the poetry of the matter. The other 
cat, whom we supposed eaten and digested on the second 
day of his being at large, was found sitting upright on his 
back, as he lay half-crouched on the stable floor ; and, from 
that time, she was unwillinor to leave him for a sino-le 
moment. Oats are said to have attachment for places 
only — (not hi" people, that is to say, and still less for dogs) 
— but this little creature stuck to Jerry, when he accora 
panied Bell to his work in the ravine, far away from the 
stable, and, (to the entire neglect of her little family of 
mice) she followed him everywhere about the grounds, as 
a dog follows his master. The neighbors were called in 
as they passed, to see the curious picture, for she seemed to 
have no resting-place but his back. He was wholly uncon- 
cerned, while she walked about upon him — scarce larger 
than one of his paws, and sitting on his head, his shoulders, 
or his hips — and, invariably, when the stable door was 
opened in the morning, she lay coiled up in the bow-knot 
of his affectionate legs. Only once he was heard to growl 
faintly, when she helped herself a little too freely to his 
plateful of cold meat, but she rubbed her little back 
against his muzzle and took no notice of it. She evidently 
feared nothing in his company — always, before, scampering 



116 The Convalescent. 

under the stable at the approach of any one, but, with him, 
going anywhere through our wild ravine without alarm. 
It is certainly a most singular case of elective-magnetism, 
and the study of the anti-common-place reciprocities 
between Avenger and Plain Kitty, has led me to look for 
more variety in the character of cats and dogs. 

I had almost forgotten to describe Jerry's personal 
appearance. He was a pure mastiff, of the largest size, 
with the fine head of his race (which is longer and more 
intellectual than the bull-dog's,) and with full brain and 
beautiful eyes. His forward parts, chest and legs, were 
magnificently powerful, but his hind quarters were wiry 
and formed only for activity. From his never wagging 
what tail he had (not even to Bell, whom and the grey 
kitten he seemed to " love, and love only"), and from his 
aversion to ladies, whom he greeted always with a growl, 
I should have thought him naturally unamiable, but that he 
was mao^nanimous in takino^ no manner of notice of anv door 
smaller than himself, and that he apparently felt indulgent, 
to children. When half-couchant, he was a noble picture 
of power in repose ; but when on his legs (from the mere- 
ness of indispensibility of his after parts) he looked like a 
Daniel Webster not done justice to by 2^osteri-ij. 

But Jerry is gone, and Plain Kitty Grizzle is a widow 
" the worst way." With all deference to our distant friend 
(the kind presenter) we could not keep him, though i' 



Cultivation of Dog Friendship. IVt 

were also to perpetuate a poem and make happy the 
iisefullest member of our family. She runs from place 
to place, looking for him, and makes sad mew-sia—but 
he was a terror to gentlemen and to ladies, and Idle- 
wild's good name was at stake. The stranger is not to 
be frighted, either from the outer gate or inner door. 
Kitty and we are open to another friendship, however, and 
if any reader has a " Jake " or '^ Quinty " for us, we have 
cold meat and tenderness in store. 

It will be seen (to return for a moment to our moral) 
that we are not insisting on the perfectability of the canine 
species. We are ready to allow that there are not only 
mad dogs and " sad dogs," but bad dogs. The many 
unrewarded virtues of the animal are not universal. But 
the good dogs are by far the majority, and it is for the 
sake of these that we wish to suggest some elevation of the 
dog in the scale of human estimation, and consequently bet- 
ter treatment. The faithful watch-dog, turned out on the 
bitterest cold night to his weary duty, solitary and unclad, 
should at least have his box, sheltered from the wind and 
well lined with straw. When sick, lame or wounded, he 
should be tended and ministered to; and above all he 
should be kindly treated and punctually fed. Keep an 
"eye on it, for a day or two, if you wish to know how often 
the dog's meal is entirely forgotten ! As to his education, 

8* 



ITS The Convalescent. 

it is perhaps, too soon to speak of dog alphabet and pri- 
mer ; but bis temper (which is really a marvel, as well as 
a model, considering the abuses and caprices to which he 
is subject) might be better trained and more considered 
than it is ; and as, with all his unmerited ignominy and 
neglect, he has preserved so many of the virtues that we 
value in a friend, let us venture, at the close of our little 
sermon, to recommend (for all who are lonely and have 
sympathies to spare) the cultivation of Doa friend- 
ship. 

P. S. As the ink dries upon this last sentence, the mail 
comes in, bringing a letter from one of the most accom- 
plished and admirable of women, (well known and 
honored in Boston as " one of the Barclays ") and a poem 
from her pen to the memory of " Quinty " — whom she 
knew. She says : " I present my condolences on the death 
of your two favorites to whom you have dedicated such an 
affecting page in dog story. I had not the pleasure of an 
acquaintance with ' Jake,' but ' Quinty ' was certainly 
sufficiently ugly to be long remembered. There must be 
a peculiar fascination in such an extreme absence of what 
we all admire so much — beauty. How admirable is Do 
Trobriand's translation of your article on the subject ! We 
read it over and over again. Translations are so difficult, 
particularly from English into French ; but this is perfect." 
And thus run our friend's musical verses : 



A Monody on Quinty. It9 



MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE "QUINTESSENCE OP UGLINESS, 
COMMONLY CALLED " QUINTY." 

Of the Ugliest dog in the town 
All mourn the unthnely decease ; 

In the bloom of his fame and renown 
Ete has fled from our presence in peace. 

His ugliness, many would say, 

Exalted him far above all : 
But then every dog has his day, 

And Quinty was destined to fall. 

Just under the roughest of coats 
He carried the warmest of hearts : 

The longest of bodies and throats — 
Was a dog of most excellent parts. 

Devoted to master and friend. 

Beloved and gentle and true — 
Oh when would my monody end 

Should I sum up his virtues to you 

The moral of this my sad lay 

Remember and faithfully keep ; 
Locked up in the mind let it stay — 

That beauty at best is shin deep. 



LETTER XXI. 

Bianca Raventail's behavior to a Wild-cat Cousin— A Secret too romantic to be 
kept— Bayard Taylor and our Friend the Judge— Taylor'a Friendship and hi3 
fellow Traveller — His Letter — Description of his German Home— Offer of 
Capital to Taylor, by Col. Perkins of Boston— Romance of Taylor's Life, etc. 

December. 
The thirtieth of November, and winter has closed upon 
us (thus early !) his frosty door. The double sleigh took us 
to church to-day, and the river, usually the lightest feature 
in the landscape, ran, inky black, through the pass of the 
snow-white Highlands. Church bells and sleigh-bells rang 
the "meeting time" together. A hickory log, on the 
library fire ! And now the heart, like the warm house, 
feels snow-shut — cut off from its green carpet of summer 
sympatliy with the world at large, and, with feet on the 
hearth, snug-humored and confidential. 

I must first mention to you (us-tv/o-ically trusting to 
jour kind indulgence, dear reader!) the virtuous example, 
set us yesterday, by Miss Bianca Raventail (our snow-white 
parlor cat with the jet-black continuation), in the matter 
of setting aside trifling differences aud behaving graciously 
to country cousins. We live, as you perhaps know, within 

180 



BlANCA RaVENTAIl's BEHAVIOR TO A WiLD-CAT. 181 

a mile and a half of the mountain base which forms the 
edge of the Highland wilderness — a desolate and almost 
trackless region, still inhabited by most of the aboriginal 
" varmint ;" particularly those wild-cat relatives of the feline 
members of our family, half way between the panther and 
the parlor puss. With the first snow, it is the sport of our 
rustic Nimrods to "punish up the year's sheep -vStealing and 
calf-killing" by a hunt of these depredating outsiders ; and, 
last evening, came the first trophy of the season, as a present 
to Idle wild. Our friend Hubbard, the ferryman, whose 
cottage, under the front cliff of the Storm-King, is the 
remotest human habitation towards lands unowned, sent 
us, with his compliments, a catamount "of the worst kind." 
He measured four feet and two inches from fore-paw to 
hind-paw, weighed twelve and a half pounds, had a short 
thick tail, and ears sunken quite out of sight ; and, what 
with extent of whiskers and possibility of jaw, looked alto- 
gether " well out of the way." 

The first wish of the children was to see what Bianca 
would think of even so faint a resemblance to herself. She 
was out, airing her manners and coquetting with ray crumb- 
fed family of snow-birds in front of the house, but she was 
easily called in and trotted up to her ferocious looking rela- 
tive in the corner. The proportions of the new comer had 
not been materially altered by his sudden death, and, 
spread out upon the hall floor in an attitude of repose, he 



182 The Convalescent. 

looked, to say the least, reasonably ready for social inter- 
course. She seemed to think so — walking straight up to 
him and commencing that rubbing promenade, to and fro, 
with which cats so enviably exchano-e electricity, on a new 
acquaintance. 

It is curious that dumb animals seem to have no recog- 
nition of death. We had seen it in our bantam, Jake, who 
(as a former Home Journal has narrated) made love to his 
stuffed wife, three months after her decease, as believingly 
as ever. And here was our favorite cat, a creature superior 
to most of her kind in common perception and intelligence, 
introduced to a dead wild-cat, and at once undertaking, by 
every manner of friendly nudge, rub and purr, to wake 
him fiom his slumber. His bloody skull and dead eyes 
wide open, told no story, for her. She evidently knew no 
difference between death and sleep. By the natural instinct, 
it thus appears, there is no recognition of it as a calamity. 

But it was in a friendly and affectionate treatment of a 
country cousin, by one w^ho had the usual grounds for being 
politely exclusive, that we saw the profitable lesson. The 
shorter tail, the coarser muzzle, the rougher hair and far 
less delicate complexion, made no difference to her. It 
was enough, apparently, that the stranger was of the same 
family ; and not for all the accomplishments and belong- 
ings of a parlor cat, could the welcome have been more 
genial and complete. In a country where most people 



A Secret too Romantic to be Kept. 183 

have a cousin or two in the backwoods, the example of our 
superbly beautiful Miss Raventail is worth recording. 

And, with this little bit of local news having got settled 
comfortably in our easy-chairs, we are ready (are we not, 
dear reader?) to commence in earnest the confidential gos- 
sip of which I spoke at starting. 

To come at once to the point — there is a secret half 
told in the Tribune of a day or two ago, of which I have 
an irresistible inclination to tell you the rest! I could 
have kept the whole of it — a whole secret is so much easier 
to keep than half a one — but, with as much of it told as is 
now given to the world by the poet and author who is him- 
self the subject of it, a remainder of some sort (in the way 
of a commentary or conjecture), is very sure to be added, 
and why should I not give you the true one ? Biography 
at least will thank us, if we are not thanked before — though 
I am willing that this particular forgiveness of our little sin 
of communicativeness should come late. Long live Bay- 
ard ! 

Yes — it is about Bayard Taylor and the way people love 
him. He is now abroad, on one of his adventurous jour- 
neys to the north of Europe; and, in his last Letter, dated 
at Gotha, in Germany, he describes a property of his oivn, 
(speaking of it as " my German home," " the home which 
German friendship has provided for me," " my friend's gar- 
den adjoins mine," "the frontier of my domain," etc., etc.) 



184 The Convalescent. 

the mystery of which, and there is a very natural and 
lively curiosity about it, just now) I shall solve by my pro- 
posed explanation. Let me first copy a part of the Letter 
giving the half of the secret which he is willing himself to 
tell: 

" For the past fifteen days I have been quietly settled in 
my German home, dividing my time between excursions 
into the Thuringian forest, and the preparatory studies for 
the North. Gotha is one of the quietest towns in Ger- 
many, but it would be difficult to find a pleasanter one. 
It is built on the undulating table-land at the foot of the 
ThUringian hills, one thousand feet above the sea, whence 
its climate is rather cold for Germany, but very bracing 
and healthy. A tourist is an unusual sight here, and 
therefore one finds the old heartiness and simplicity of a 
German home-life in all its purity. As it is one of the 
court residences of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, there 
is a small, but intelligent and refined circle, some of the 
members of which have a European reputation in their 
departments of science and art. Hansen, the astronomer, 
and Dr. Peterraan, the geographer, both of whom reside 
here, are also well known in America. Here came Barth, 
last summer, to recruit from his African travels ; and most 
of the explorers, of whose labors Perthes, the renowned 
map-publisher, makes such good use, may be seen here 
from time to time. Gerstacker, Bodenstedt, the author of 
the ' Thousand and One Days in the Orient,' Gustav Frei- 
tag, Alexander Zeigler, and other German authors, hover 
about here through the summer ; and in the neighboring 
village of Friedrichsroda, the brothers Grimm sometimes 
make their abode. 



I 



Taylor's Description of his German Home. 185 

"The lioine which German friendship has provided for 
me here, is in entire harmony with the character of the 
place. The little garden-house (inhabited only by Braisted 
and myself) fronts on the avenue of lindens leading into 
the town, while the rear overlooks a garden of three or 
four acres in extent. It was built by one of the Ministers 
of Duke Ernest II., in 1760, when the French style 
infected Germany, and the steep, bulging roof and quaint 
windows of the upper half-story ftiintly reminds one of the 
chateaux of the time of Louis XIV. The same taste 
characterizes the garden. The house stands on a gravelled 
terrace, bordered with flowers, whence a flight of stone steps 
guarded by statues of laughing fauns, descends to a second 
and broader terrace, in the centre of which is a spacious 
basin and a fountain belter than that in the Park, for it 
plays day and night. Beyond this, a sloping arcade of the 
dwarf beech, trained so as to form a roof of shade, imper- 
vious to the sun, leads down to the garden. Still beyond, 
are flower beds open to the summer warmth, a pool edged 
with flags and lilies, and groups of trees studding the 
smooth sward on either side. 

" An arch of vines at the end of the garden-walk ushers 
you into the grove, where a Pomona on her pedestal offers 
samples of fruits which you need not expect to find ; for I 
have none other than forest trees here — fir, oak, ash, chest- 
nut, and beech. You would not guess that the grove was 
so small. Its winding foot-paths are led through the 
thickest shade, and the briery undergrowth shoots up to 
shut out the patches of garden which shimmer through 
the lowest boughs. In the centre, under venerable firs, 
stands a hermitage of bark, beside a fountain of delicious 
water, which is surmounted by a triangular block of sand- 
stone, erected by an extinct mason who once possessed the 



186 The Coxvalescent. 

propert}^ This mason liad more money than learning ; he 
put up the stone as a monument to his ancestors, and 
inscribed thereon, as he supposed, ' To my Venerable Fore- 
fathers,' but, in foct, through his mis-spelling, ' To my Ven- 
erable Trout.' [Foixllen, instead of Vordltern). Some 
one, however, has since then engraved on the three sides 
of the stone the following "words of wisdom : ' Forget not 
yesterday ' — ' Enjoy to-day ' — ' Think upon to-morrow.' 

" At the end of the grove, on the frontier of my domain^ 
which is shut in by a hedge of fir trees, is * The Duke's 
Tree,' planted by the hand of Ernest 11. Although nearly 
a hundred years old, the trunk is not more than a foot in 
diameter; but the tree is branching and shady, and 
throws its boughs over the rustic seat and stone table, 
whereupon my friend and I sometimes lie on our backs, 
and smoke the pipe of meditation. My friend's garden 
adjoins mine, and there is no fence between us; so that I 
can walk from my hermitage directly into his stables, and 
inspect his thirty stall-fed cows, and his pens of high-born 
English swine. Beyond our joint territory, a rich banker 
has his garden, and his fountain (which, by the force of 
money, spouts ten feet higher than mine) is a pretty sight 
enough over the hedge which divides us. His garden 
terminates in an artificial mound, covered with tall pines 
and firs, which also has its historic interest. Here the 
Court of Gotha, aping the grand sentimental silliness of 
that of France, played at pastoral life ; and lords and 
ladies, with satin ribbons on their crooks, and flowers in 
their hair, gave themselves such names as Corydon, and 
Doris, and Alexis, and Chloe, and tended sheep, and ate 
curds, and played flutes, and danced, and sang, and looked 
languishingly and amorously at each other; but always 
returned to beer and sausages, cards and scandal, every 



The. Castle of Friedenstein. 181 

evening. They even built a pastoral village of thirteen 
houses, which has long since disappeared, and instituted a 
Court of Love on the summit of the mound, where Phillis 
was tried for slighting the passion of Amyntor, or Fiorian 
for his faithlessness to Melissa. It is difficult, in our day, 
to imagine the possibility of such ineffable absurdities. 

"My own room, under the steep French roof of the gar- 
den-house, was once the studio of a sculptor, to whose 
hand, I believe, I am indebted for the six thinly-clad 
statues whic^h stand in my garden. The laughing fauns 
are jolly and good-humored enough, as they stand listening 
to the^Dlash of the fountain: but Venus Anadyomene, 
down in the grove, leaves one to infer that the artist 
did not mingle in the most reputable society. So oddly 
are things managed in this place, that, although I live just 
between^the palaces of the reigning Duke and the Dowager 
Duchess, both within a stone's throw, I hear the noises of 
the farm-yard every morning, and am, at this moment, lis- 
tening to the measured beat of the Hails on a threshing- 
floor across the way. The diligence to Coburg rattles past 
every afternoon, and the postillion blows me a merry hunt- 
ino;-soiio' on his horn ; sometimes wagons come in from the 
fiekls laden with turnips or potatoes, but other noises I 
rarelv hear, and from my windows I see little except trees 
and crarden-walks. The Duke is at present chamois-hunt- 
ino- \n Tyrol, the theatre is not yet opened, and the only 
recent excitement has been the arrival of four hundred 
oysters from Ostend. They came one evening, and by 
noon the next day they were not. 

"The Castle of Friedenstein, on the summit of the hill 
on which the town leans, is the old residence of the Dukes 
of Gotha, before the union of this Duchy with that of 
Coburg. It is a massive, imposing pile, forming three 



188 The Convalescent. 

sides of a quadrangle, open to the south, and looking 
across twelve miles of grain and turnip fields, to the wav- 
ing blue line of the Thiiringiaii Forest. A residence no 
more, it now contains a curious collection of pictures by 
the old German masters, a library of one hundred and eighty 
thousand volumes, an excellent museum of natural his- 
tory, and one of the best collections of Chinese and Jap- 
anese articles out of Holland. The adjoining park is a 
noble piece of ground, just sufficiently neglected to make 
it delightful. A few footpaths meander through its groves 
of superb oak, fir and beech trees, and long, lazy pools of 
dark-green water furnish swimming room for some venerable 
swans. There is an island in the largest pool, in which 
lies one of the Dukes, who, at his own request, was buried 
there, in the moist earth, without shroud, coffin, or head- 
stone. The parks and gardens are open day and night to 
everybody, and I already feel as much right of possession 
therein as the oldest inhabitant. 

" The Jahrmarkt, or annual Fair, was held here last 
week, and drew together crowds of the peasantry from 
the surrounding villages. The Fair itself was insignificant, 
compared with what I have seen in the larger German 
cities ; but I found it interesting to watch the jolly peasants 
who hovered around the booths, and bought glaring hand- 
kerchiefs, immense pipes, winter caps, dreambooks, and 
'Rinaldo Rinaldini,' or 'The Four Sons of Haymon.' 
They are a strong, sturdy, ruddy race — a little too purely 
animal, to be sure, but with a healthy stamina which is not 
often seen among our restless American people. The 
girls, in particular, are as fresh as wild roses, with teeth 
which can masticate tougher food than blancmange, and 
stomachs, I have no doubt, of equal digestive power. Their 
arms and ankles are too thick and stronof, and their hands 



An Erntekranz. 189 

too red and hard for our ideas of beauty, but they are 
exempt from a multitude of female weaknesses, and the 
human race is not deteriorated in their children. They are 
an ignorant, honest, simple-hearted race, and, although so 
industrious and economical, are generous, so far as their 
means allow them to be. 

"Lately, the field-laborers on ray friend's property 
oommemorated the close of the season, by bringing him, 
according to custom, an Erntekranz (harvest-wreath) of 
ripe rye and barley-stalks, mixed with wild grasses, and 
adorned with fantastic strips of colored and gilded papers. 
This wreath was formally delivered to the landlord, who 
also, according to custom, regaled the laborers with plum 
cakes and wine. They passed the afternoon and evening 
in one of the outer rooms, settling their accounts and par- 
taking of the cheer, after which a gittern was brought forth, 
and the room cleared for a dance. We had some of the old 
Thiiringian songs, with a chorus more loud than musical, 
and two-step waltzes danced to the tinkling gittern. I was 
contented to be a listener and looker-on, but was soon seized 
by the strong hands of a tall, nut-brown maiden, and 
whirled into the ranks. Resistance was impossible, and at 
the end of five minutes I was glad to beat a giddy retreat." 

And, now to share with you the running commentary 
which was marginal in my memory, as I read the fore- 
going. 

It was a stormy night at Idlewild, somewhere about the 
middle of last June ; and we were seated around the supper- 
table, with no guests, save the dark tips of the pines and 
hemlock.'^, lighted by the evening lamp and looking in at 



190 The Convalescent. 

the windows, when, by the rattle of wheels upon the 
gravel path through the wood, the children knew of an 
arrival. In another moment we were all happy with the 
sight of two for whom we keep slippers and name trees — 
" The Judge " who is lovingly spoken of, in our circle, by 
his official title alone, and with the definite article which 
precedes it pronounced always with an emphasis of affec- 
tion, and his intimate ally and ours. Bayard Taylor — both 
come from the city for only a midnight visit and to be oft 
before daylight the next morning. "His Honor's" Bench 
was to be occupied as usual at ten, and our friend the 
Traveller had come to say farewell — bound for Europe 
again on his projected Northern explorations, and to sail in 
the packet of the day after. 

Supper renewed upon the table, and the youngest child- 
ren kissed off to their pillows, we circled around the lamp 
once more, for our cheer and reciprocities. Bed-time was 
happily indefinite — the woods silent around us and the noisy 
city sixty miles away — and at the edge of the table-cloth 
the doors of our hearts stood open, like tents pitched 
around a camp-fire, and thoughts walked in and out at 
their untrammelled pleasure. There was much for every 
one present to look, and to say ; but unseen spirits carried 
more freight between us — a great deal more — than passed 
by our eyes and voices. Our friend with his back to the 
Storm-King, however — the calm eved one on the south 



Taylor's Fellow Traveller. 191 

side of the table — was, of all our thoughts and sympathies, 
that night, the tacitly understood centre. He was bound 
to Lapland and Finland, to the icebergs of Northern Seas 
and the Steppes of Tartary, and, for a long, long time, and 
with many a danger in the way, he was to be absent from 
us. 

I could find much, well worth giving you, of that night's 
conversation, if it were not keeping you from what you are 
impatient to know. It was varied and precious to remem- 
ber. The hours went by like the wing-flappings of a sea- 
bird — effortless, and with scarce noticed succession, yet, 
with those even measurings, leaving so much behind I 
We talked of the countries he was first to visit — Switzer- 
land and Germany more particularly — and then, with a 
stray remark of some one as to the chan(;e friendships made 
in travel, and left like dreams incomplete, I saw a gleam 
pass over the face of Bayard. We had touched a memory, 
it was evident. But it was a struggle whether he would 
voice it or no — and it was not without the stammer of a 
modest hesitation and a slight flush of color to his honest 
eyes, that he let us, at last, into his secret. 

A few words will tell what he has not, himself, now told 
of it in print. With a German gentleman, who had been 
his travelling companion in the East, he had formed one 
of these friendships of which we had been speaking — an 
inexplicable interchange of magnetic recognition and trust. 



192 The Contalescent. 

They were together in scenes far remote from both their 
homes ; and their acquaintance, brief as it was, was yet 
knit by unusual associations and by a sympathy that had 
been reciprocally complete. They parted — each to return to 
his own land — but without promise of correspondence; 
and it was some time before Bayard heard from his Ger- 
man friend. The missive, when it came, was startling, how- 
ever. It was a formal conveyance to him of an estate, to 
belong to him and to his heirs — a free gift, and given irrever- 
sibly, as a pledge and token of friendship. The description 
of it the reader has, above. The grounds were complete, 
the house furnished. But, that it should in no way be a 
burden to the new owner, the assurance was added, that as 
long as the giver should live (whose estate and residence 
were adjoining), it should be taken care of as if tenanted 
by Bayard in person — his, and in order, whenever he should 
come, and his, and in order, if he never came. He tells us 
now, in his letter to the Tribune^ of his first occupancy of 
it — though, it is easy to see, it is with a reluctant pen ; and 
it is apparent to me, also (after hearing his account of it, 
in the freer scope of conversation, that he has under-colored 
his description for print. It is a " German home," all the 
value and beauty of which he sensitively hesitated to por- 
tray. 

This is a romance; and Taylor's whole life is a romance. 
He looks it, with his Arab physiognomy ; his thin nostrils ; 



Romance of Taylor's Life, 19** 

his calm, untroubled 6)^6 ; his unsensuous, but decided 
mouth ; his simply noble manners and expression of face. 
He lives it in his course of daily life. He feels and inspires 
it. And (curiously enough) his writings QnaJce the same 
imp7'ession as his personal presence. Of which last inner 
and completing corroboration, by ^Nature, of the stamp she 
put uj)on his outer form, I have a proof still in store. 
Though hitherto a secret, it is too significant a fact*in our 
friend's history to conceal from a Public that loves him — 
while, at the same time, it should be told in memory of a 
most liberal and high-hearted gentleman since dead. 

Just ten years ago, soon after the publication of Bayard's 
first book, I received a letter from that prince among the 
Boston merchants. Colonel Thomas H. Perkins. He wrote 
to me as the journalist who had fortunately been the first 
to announce the rising of the new star — expressing the 
greatest interest in Taylor's character as seen through his 
writings, and inquiring very frankly into his prospects and 
present position. He apologized for the freedom of these 
queries by stating that he wished to make the offer, to this 
young writer, of whatever capital he might require for his 
start in life. I have no copy of Colonel Perkins' letter, and 
do not remember the precise terms of his proposal ; but I 
chance to have preserved a copy of my reply, and, from it, 
may be gathered an idea of what it was, in substance. I 
thus wrote : 

9 



194 The Coxvalescext. 



New York, January 19, 1846, 

Sir : That your letter was one which should not be 
answered without some reflection, must be my apology for 
the delay of this reply. Always acquainted as I have been, 
with the unusual nobleness of your employment of wealth, 
the bringing home an instance of it to my personal influenc- 
ing made me feel deeply the responsibility of aiding or 
diverting a stream so sacred. I am not prepared, even 
now, to give a decided opinion on this proposed benevo- 
lence. Taylor is as pure in his character as a child, and as 
full of endurance and energy and resource as more impetu- 
ous and antagonistic men. Nothing could corrupt him, 
and nothing could prevent his being prosperous — or so I 
think. He has gone to his native place, near Reading in 
Pennsylvania, and is engaged in editing the " Phoenixville 
Pioneer," a country newspaper which will give him a sup- 
port. He wished to procure editorial employment in New 
York city, but I told him his mind was too well worth 
keeping separate to venture upon the subservient employ- 
ment of sub-editino;, and that he would better have a coun- 
try paper all to himself than to merge his genius in another 
man's mind and purposes. He has followed this advice; 
but, whether a small capital, which would enable him to 
start for himself and use his first fresh enero^ies in the lar- 
ger sphere which he will ultimately fill, is advisable for 
him, you can better decide. I presume that he will never 
return to mechanical employment, except as a master- 
printer and editor — his pen is so much more profitable as 
well as more advantageous a reliance. But the possession 
of one or two thousand dollars would probably have 
induced him to start a paper, or purchase part of one, here 
in New York, or in Philadelphia or Boston. I will write 



Romance of Taylor's Life. 195 

to him, to-day, and find out what his plans and wishes are, 
and will write you the result. He is a very interesting 
man, as you discovered by his book. The only deficiency 
in his nature seems a singular absence of all the weaknesses 
and unruly passions common to men of his imaginative 
turn of mind. He has eves more like an ano-el's than a 
human being's, and, though large, strong and healthy, is 
curiously gentle and retiring. His poetical genius is of a 
very high order, and, every way, I esteem him a man of 
most uncommon promise. 

I express, believe me, sir, a feeling entertained for many 
years, when I assure you of the sincerest respect and honor- 
ino- reofard of. Your obedient servant, 

N. P. Willis. 
Col. Thomas H. Perking. 

The romance of this ofier (which Taylor did not accept) 
forms loith the other a beautiful exponent of the whole 
impression of the man — the one a tribute to his personal 
character, the other to the character of his mind. There 
is a unity between the two which it is the common draw- 
back of genius to lack. Among poets, particularly, Bay- 
ard Tayloj' will be remembered as the rare exception of 
consistency and completeness. May God preserve him 
under the inclement skies to which he has now trusted him- 
self, and bring him back to country and friends — ^to blqss 
us with the noon and evening of a career, of which, as yet, 
we have seen but the energetic morning ! 

And so, dear reader, ends what you must allow is a gos- 
sip unusually confidential ! I have had twenty turns of 



196 The Convalescent. 

thumb and finger to tear up what I have thus venture- 
solnely written. Not for any scruple of ray own, let me 
say, however. My experiment in literature (as you have 
probably long ago discovered) is to portray what is present 
and passing — to copy what is memorable, from my own 
seeing and knowing of famous events and persons — to 
pluck the ripe apple rather than wait for the dried fruit — 
to have the relish of eating fresh the fish which Biography, 
History and Fiction, are at such trouble to salt down. If I 
shall not, now, have offended my friend Bayard (which I 
trust, afier his first blush at the world's better acquaintance 
with him, I shall prove not unpardonably to have done), it 
must be admitted that I have recorded what should rightly 
be known — rightly, that is to say, if Fame's rights to what 
is true of a famous man are at all to be measuredby com- 
mon Biography. And I will close by leaving a relish on 
your palate of what a better writer says upon the subject: 
" The best books are records of the writer's own experi- 
ences, of what he himself has seen or known, or, best of all, 
has done. The writing then becomes naturally concrete, 
perspicuous, a mirror of the fact; and, whether it be a 
book for the world and for ages, or for nations and gene- 
rations, there is this common to them all, that they are 
genuine records of genuine things, and throw light on the 
subject," ***** 



LETTER XXII. 

Previous Account by Friend Sands — Seeing with different Eyes — The raised Leg 
of Massachusetts — His laid-off Garter and Slippers — Fossil of an Eden Day — 
Buzzard's Bay Physiognomy — Wood's Hole — The Yacht Azalia — Edgartown, 
and its Head Man Dr. Fisher — Indian Shell-currency of the Island — Extract 
from an old Book about Nantucket — Quaker Character of Buildings and of 
Scenery — Contrast between Quaker and Indian Names — Indian Legend and 
its Poetry — Quaker superiorities — Early and easy Marriages — Whale OU Agil- 
ity and Grace of Gait, etc., etc. 

New Bedford, September 5. 
There is a foreshadowing of heaven (I am hopeful enough 
to believe) in the utterness, obstinate and instinctive, with 
which I forget what I have written. Away from home, to 
day, and with no access to files of Home Journal, and 
memorandum-books, I am completely at a loss, for instance, 
whether or no a most interestincr account of Nantucket, 
which I heard from our venerable and lamented neighbor 
at Idlewild, Friend Sands the Quaker, was ever made the 
subject of a letter. I know that I told you about it, some- 
how. What I have communicated I can remember; and 
his narrative of that visit was too graphic not to be shared 
with you ; but it is the mortal inking — the tribute taken of 
pleasant thoughts by the curse of toil — which the instinct 
of heavenly memory refuses to store away. Though I 

19T 



198 The Convalescf.xt. 

know, therefore, that the account of Friend Sands's visit to 
Nantucket has passed from me to you — did or did not my 
inkstand black its footprints as it went ? 

But, with this embarrassment for my apology, perhaps 
you will excuse a little possible repetition ; for I have now 
been to Nantucket, myself, and should describe my visit 
more comfortably if I had never written of it before — as 
possibly I have not. At all events, there was a novelty in 
seeing, through my own every-day eyes, what I had seen, 
before, only through eyes as angel-visioned as those of that 
sweet, good old man — eyes that were life-unclouded and 
heaven-ready so long before he died. To proceed, then, 
%vith my history of how Nantucket looked, yesterday, to a 
common sinner's every-day eyes. 

The motto of Massachusetts would probably be guessed 
at, by the school-boy, as " To horse ! To horse I'' — if he 
were called upon suddenly to give it, and trusted to his 
impression from its picture on the map — for it looks as if 
the old State had its leo* in the air with haulinsf on its 
horseman's boot — (Cape Cod the lifted toe and Monomoy 
sand-bar the upturned spur) — while under the hamstrings, 
at Buzzard's Bay, lie the cast-off slippers, Martha's Vine- 
yard and Nantucket, And to these secluded islands 
(which preserved their character of slippers by remaining 
at peace while the booted and spurred mainland fought 
the King Philip war), it is the custom for the Buzzard's- 



Seeing with Different Eyes. 199 

Bay steamers to make " pleasure excursions " during the 
summer. And it was on one of these, advertised by the 
" Eagle's Wing " for September the first, that our party pro- 
posed to go. 

It chanced to be a morning altogether Adara-and-Eve- 
worthy — one of those fossils of Eden-weather which 
occasionally turn up with the plough of a summer's day — 
and we joyfully made our way through the wilderness of 
whale-ships at New Bedford wharves, to the gaily-painted 
little steamer rino-ino; her welcome amono- the tall masts. 
With her decks laden with some four hundred passengers, 
the "Eagle's Wing" cast loose at eleven a.m. and put out 
from Acushnet River — " Wood's Hole," some fifteen miles 
across Buzzard's Bay, being our first point of destination. 
As the shore lessened, of course, I varied my study of the 
somewhat unwritten sea with attention to the more plum- 
met-able " soundings " of my fellow-passengers. They were 
from a corner of New England, the population of which, 
as you know, are so " awful smart " that they never have 
stuff to look anything else with ; and I must say that their 
physiognomy as a crowd would be improved wath here and 
there a countenance of some little, suavity of dullness. 
Still, there were the two usual classes — those who were 
handsomer than they knew of, and those who thought 
themselves handsomer than they were — and among the 
former were some well bronzed and bearded young whale- 



200 The Convalescent. 

men, just home from the three-years' voyage ; and among 
the latter were tlieir sweethearts " and the other girls," all 
"perfectly beautiful," of course, under the sharp appetite 
for female beauty given by a long fasting on whales and 
porpoises. 

We ran to the small harbor of \Yood's Hole in about 
an hour ; and, this being the unfastened clasp of that laid- 
off garter of the leg of Massachusetts called the " Eliza- 
beth Islands," it is the gap and channel by which to get 
from Buzzard's Bay to the Atlantic without making the 
circuit of that chain of islands. It is also the steamer's 
landing-place for those bound to Naushon, the largest of 
them ; and, for a very charming lady who was among our 
passengers, the beautiful yacht " Azalia " lay anchored and 
waiting, she l)eing the Cleopatra-served queen of that 
island, her husband's residence. The disembarking of this 
one passenger, and of several baskets of marketing which 
were doubtless tributary also to her well served loveliness, 
seemed to be our main errand at that port ; and, this 
achieved, we kept on our way to Martha's Vineyard. And, 
in fifteen or twenty minutes we ran under the shelter of 
Chappequiddick, the small island which seems to have 
been thrown out by Nature as a breakwater against the 
Atlantic, giving shelter and safe anchorage in all weather 
to the harbor of Edo-artown. 

The main wharf of Edgartown (the metropolis of tho 



Dr. Fisher. 201 

twenty-mile island called Martha's Vineyard), was crowded 
with a large representation of its two thousand inhabi- 
tants — the straw-hatted and parasolled curiosity which had 
brought down the male and female islanders to see the 
voyagers from the distant mainland, making a very bril- 
liant show, among the whale-ships and oil-casks of the pier. 
We had half an hour for a walk ; and, immediately on 
landing, we fortunately fell in with the head Sachem of 
the island, with whom my companion, Mr. Grinnell, 
chanced to be acquainted ; and under whose favorable con- 
voy we made the circuit of the principal streets. This 
gentleman, Dr. Fisher, is the tallest, strongest-built, 
healthiest and handsomest, as well as the wealthiest and 
most influential inhabitant of Martha's Vineyard. He is 
certainly a monarch to look at, and he carried the sceptre 
of the island in his pocket — (the key of the " Martha's 
Vineyard Bank," of which he is President) — giving us, by 
this means, the privilege of an entrance into his palace 
after "bankino; hours" were over, and a view of the iron 
safes where were deposited the precious ledgers which are 
the jewels of his crown. He did not (by the way) 
show us a specimen of what I was curious to see, the 
"strings of forty sun dried claras,'' which, in the primitive 
Indian currency of the island, were equivalent to a copper. 
This, and the weed called horse-feet or sea-spin (two hun-^ 
dred of which, for manure, constituted the yearly tithe 

9* 



202 The Convalescent. 

paid by each master of a family for the support of the 
clerofvman) were mv hurried omissions in that half-hour 
of sio-ht-seeinaf. 

And, by the way, it is in curious contrast with our pre- 
sent dazzling returns from California, to look back to the 
representatives of coin, and the slow and homely creation 
of values in this once newly discovered corner of the world. 
There are some excellent comments on those of Martha's 
Vineyard and Nantucket, in an old book I have stumbled 
upon, called "Letters from an American Farmer to a 
friend in England," published in Philadelphia, in 1793. 
The author discourses thus sensibly : 

" It would be a task worth a speculative genius, to enter 
intimately into the situation and characters of the people, 
from Nova Scotia to Florida. Numberless settlements, each 
distinguished by some peculiarities, present themselves on 
every side ; all seem to realize the most sanguine wishes 
that a good man could form for the happiness of his race. 
Here, they live by fishing on the most plentiful coasts of 
the world ; there they fell trees, by the sides of large rivers, 
for masts and lumber ; here others convert innumerable 
loo-s into the best boards ; there, again, others cultivate the 
land, rear cattle and clear large fields. Yet I have a spot 
in my view (Nantucket) where none of these operations 
are performed, which will reward us for the trouble of 
infection ; but, though it is barren in its soil, insignificant 
in its extent, inconvenient in its situation, deprived of mate- 
rials for building, it seems to have been inhabited merely to 
prove what mankind can do, when happily governed. And 



Extract from an Old Book about Nantucket, 203 

when we find barren spots fertilized ; grass growing where 
none grew before ; grain gathered from fields which had 
hitherto produced nothing but brambles ; dwellings raised 
where no building-materials were to be found ; wealth 
acquired "by the most uncommon means; then willingly do 
we leave the odoriferous furrow, or the rich valley, with 
pleasure repairing to the spot where so many difficulties 
have been overcome ; where extraordinary exertions have 
produced extraordinary effects, and where -every natural 
obstacle has been remos^ed by a vigorous industry 

" Would you believe that a sandy spot of about twenty- 
three thousand acres, affording neither stones nor timber, 
meadows nor arable land, can yet boast of a handsome 
town consisting of more than five hundred houses, should 
possess above two hundred sail of vessels, constantly employ 
upwards of two thousand seamen, feed more than fifteen 
thousand sheep, five hundred cows, two hundred horses; 
and has several citizens (this was in 1798) worth twenty- 
thousand poimds sterling ? Yet all these facts are uncon- 
tro verted. 

"This island was patented in 1671, by twenty-seven 
proprietors. They found it so universally barren and so 
unfit for cultivation that they mutually agreed not to 
divide it, as each could neither live on, nor improve, that 
lot which might fall to his share. They then cast their 
eyes on the sea, and finding themselves obliged to become 
fishermen, they looked for a harbor; and, having found 
one, they determined to build a town in its neighborhood 
and to dwell together. For that purpose they surveyed as 
much ground as would afford to each what is generally 
called here a home-lot. Forty acres were thought sufficient 
to answer this double purpose ; for, to what end should they 
covet more land than they could improve, or even inclose? 



204 The Convalescext. 

not being 2)ossessed of a single tree in the whole extent of 
their dominion. This was all the territorial property they 
allotted ; the rest they agreed to hold in common ; and, 
seeing that the scanty grass of the island might feed sheep, 
they agreed that each proprietor should be entitled to feed 
on it, if he pleased, five hundred and sixty sheep. By this 
agreement the public flock was to consist of fifteen thou- 
sand, one hundred and twenty ; that is, the undivided part 
of the island, was, by such means, ideally divisible into as 
many parts or shares, to which, nevertheless, no determin- 
ate quantity of land was affixed. 

" Further, they agreed, in case the grass should grow 
better by feeding, that, then, four sheep should represent a 
cow, and two cows a horse. Several hundred of sheep-pas- 
ture titles have since been divided on those different tracts 
which are now cultivated; the rest by inheritance and 
intermarriages have been so subdivided, that it is very com- 
mon for a girl to have no other portion than her outfit and 
four sheep-pastures or the p)7'ivilege of feeding a cow. But 
as this privilege is founded on an ideal, though real title to 
some unknown piece of land, which, one day or another, 
may be ascertained, these people very unwillingly sell those 
small rights, and esteem them more than you would ima- 
gine. They are the representation of a future freehold ; 
they cherish in the mind of the possessor, a latent though 
distant hope, that, hj h.\^ success in the next whale season, he 
may be enabled to pitch on some predilected spot, and 
there build himself a home. 

.... a There is a considerable tract of even ground, 
the best on the island, divided into seven fields, one of 
which is planted by that part of the community which is 
entitled to it. This is called the common plantation, a sim- 
ple but useful expedient ; for, was each holder of this tract 



Extract from an Old Book about Nantucket. 205 

to fence his property, it would require a prodigious quantity 
of posts and rails, which, you must remember, are to be 
purchased and fetched from the mainland. Instead of those 
private subdivisions, each man's allotment of land is thrown 
into the general field, which is fenced at the expense of the 
parties. Within it, every one does with his own propor- 
tion of the ground what he pleases. This apparent commu- 
nity saves a very material expense, a great deal of labor, 
and, perhaps, raises a sort of emulation among them, which 
urges every one to fertilize his share with the greatest care 
and attention. Thus, every seven years the whole of this 
tract is under cultivation, and, enriched by manure and 
ploughing, yields afterwards excellent pasture ; to which 
the town coivs, amounting to five hundred, are daily led by 
the town shepherd^ and as regularly driven back in the 
evening. There, each animal easily finds the house to 
which it belongs, where they are sure to be rewarded for 
the milk they give, by a present of bran, grain, or other 
farinaceous preparation. These are commonly called Tetou- 
kemah lots. 

" The rest of the undescribed part of the island is open, 
and serves as a common pasture for their sheep. To the 
west of the island, in the spring, their young cattle are 
driven to feed. It has a few oak bushes, and two fresh- 
water ponds, abounding with teals, brandts, and other sea- 
fowls, brought by the proximity to their sand-banks and 
shallows. Here, they have neither ivolves nor foxes ; those 
inhabitants, therefore, who live out of town, raise with all 
security as much poultry as they ivant, and their turkeys 
are very large and excellent." 

It is curious to look around in Edgartown, and see how 
all prevalent, in its streets, structures and scenery, is tho 



206 The Convalescent. 

spirit, type and essence of Quakerism, The buildings 
the very simplest structures that could shut in families and 
shut out rain — stand at all manner of ano-les to the street, 
having quite the air of being dropped from the clouds like 
a cluster of blocks and left where they first fell. The 
island itself, indeed, a sand-bank without verdure or foliage, 
seems to have been created a Quaker (a Friend Sands) by 
Nature — with all its purity of air and invigorating health- 
fulness of temperature, rigidly unornamented by leaf or 
flower. To tell the truth, I looked with some astonish- 
ment at the personal beauty of our friend the King-Fisher 
— (the monarch of the island, who was sliowing us the new- 
built Bank that formed his throne) — and it was a handsome- 
ness in spite of evident intention to the contrary. Though 
not in the Quaker costume, his ample proportions were 
clad wholly with a view to comfort — large thick shoes, 
ample and square tailed blue coat, loose-tied cravat, slouch 
hat, and prairie-proportioned trowsers — all in keeping with 
his huge plain manners and right down words. 

Yet — apropos of Quaker words — look at the poetry that 
has once inhabited these islands in the shape of the Indian 
names, histories and legends. Compare the spots which 
the Quakers have had the naming of — (^Further Greek, 
Hither Creek, Narrow Creek, Broad Creek, Muddy Cove, 
Sandy Cove, Thumb Cove, Great Thumb Cove, Squash 
Meadow and Eel Point) — with the red man's names which 



An Indian Legend. 20T 

have ftill lingered : — Tashmu Spring, ToochJca Pond, Sasa- 
cacheh and Siasconset^ Nohadeer and Madequeechan Ponds, 
Nashaquitsa and Chapaquonsett. And, what a contrast 
between the Quaker history of these islands — simple statis- 
tics of industry and long life — and such legends as the In- 
dian account of the Devil's Den, a volcanic crater at the 
southwest end of Martha's Vinevard : 

" Many years before the English carae to this island, a 
giant, named Maushope, resided in this hollow. Here he 
broiled whales, and, not consuming all himself, he supphed 
the Indians with fish ready-cooked, Tofacihtate the catch- 
ing of these fish, he threw many large stones at proper 
distances into the sea, on which he might walk with 
greater ease to himself. (This cause-way is now called the 
Devil's bridge.) On a time an offering was made to him 
of all the tobacco on Martha's Vineyard ; which, having 
smoked, he knocked the snuff out of his pipe, which formed 
Nantucket. When the Christian religion took place in the 
island, he told them, as light had come among them, and 
he belonged to the Kingdom of Darkness, he must take his 
leave. Accordingly, after metamorphosing his children 
into fishes, and throwing his wife on Saconet Point, where 
she still remains a misshapen rock, he went away, nobody 
knew whither." 

Poetry notwithstanding, however, the balance to be 
btruck, in weighing the merits of these islands, is altogether 
in their Quaker favor. And I should not leave this part of 
the subject without mentioning that there are two import- 



208 The Convalescent. 

ant points on which their climate and soil have an advan- 
tage over the rest of the world, viz. — matrimony dixidi pump- 
kins. The old writer from whom I have already quoted 
says : 

" The climate is so favorable to population that marriage 
is the object of every man's earliest wish ; and it is a bless- 
ing so easily obtained that great numbers are obliged to quit 
their native land and carry their children to other coun- 
tries for a subsistence." 

And the other — the pumj^Mn superiority — is well known 
to naturalists. A root transplanted from the mainland tc/ 
any of these islands will produce gradually a sweeter 
fruit, till the juice is almost of the character of molasses. 
The pumpkin pies made here, though of a peculiarly delicious 
flavor, are wholly without other sweetening than the fruit 
itself. 

Turning back to the old volume at my elbow, 1 find 
still two other passages which have a bearing on the ad- 
vantao-es of these islands : 

o 

"Every man here takes a wife as soon as he chooses, 
and that is generally very early. iVb portion is required, 
none is expected.^'' 

"A man born here is distinguishable, hj/ his gait, from 
among a hundred other men, so remarkable are they for a 
pliabiliti/ of sinews and a peculiar agility which attends 
them even in old age. I have heard some persons attri- 



Whale Oil Agility. 209 

bute this to tfie effects of whale oil, with which they are so 
copiously anointed in the various operations it must un- 
dergo before it is fit either for the European market or the 
candle manufactory." 

You see, ray dear Morris, that the subject grows under 
my hand. My letter has already passed the usual length, 
and we are not yet even arrived at Nantucket. I will stop 
for the present, and my next letter shall proceed with the 
two days' visit to that most interesting island. 

Yours always. 



LETTER XXIII. 

Gay Reception at Edgartown— Happy Exemption from the usual Penalty of 
the Voyage— Picnic Refreshment on the Voyage — Universal Temperance — 
Original Price of the Island of Nantucket — Quaker Exemptions from Com- 
mon social Evils— Curious Chapter from an Old Book, about the "Friends " 
of Nantucket, and their Manners and Customs — Specimen of the First-borr 
Poetry of the Island, etc. etc. 

New Bedford, September. 
With the close of my last letter, I believe, we had got as 
far as Martha's Vineyard, on our way to Nantucket. Our 
welcome at Edgartown (I forgot to mention) was a display 
of some twenty flags by a revenue-cutter lying in the har- 
bor, and of one or more flags by most of the other vessels 
at the wharves — a public sympathy with a " pleasure 
excursion," which spoke well for the tender sensibilities of 
the island. There was also a salute of two guns fired by 
the government vessel, the Revenue-Commodore, in his 
uniform, standing on the quarter-deck ; and to this we 
responded by several sharp sneezes from our steam-whistle, 
while an Italian music-o-rinder who chanced to be on 
board played vigorously at the bowsprit. Our four hun- 
dred passengers, as a bod}^, were under the exhilaration of 
of an agreeable disappointment; many having secretly 

210 



Happy Exemption from the usual Penalty. 211 

dreaded that the breakfast, eaten at New Bedford, would 

be 

" Though lost to siglit to memory dear." 

and I, for one, having stopped at the apothecary's on my 
way to the boat, and laid in that deferrer of sea-sickness, 
(for nothing on earth will idtimately prevent it), a bottle 
of the essence of ginger. Few go to Nantucket, I believe, 
ordinarily, without paying, to the Atlantic, this eructatory 
toll. It is even mentioned in a mineralogical report made 
to the Academy of Science in 1786 — the learned Dr. 
Baylies, who then, with a committee, made a special voy- 
ao;e to the island, to examine its soil and strata, declarino: 
to that scientific body : " With the constant rolling of the 
boat I grew exceedingly sick; and nothing could alleviate 
my disagreeable feelings but a view of Gay's Head, seen 
through Quick's Hole at a distance of about fifteen miles." 
So, of course, not being called upon to rely upon a view 
through "Quick's Hole" for an "alleviation of our disa- 
greeable feelings," we were all happier than Dr. Baylies. 

We bade adieu to the crowded wharf at Edgartown, 
about one o'clock ; and the next hour of our voyage (to 
the remoter ibland of Nantucket) was occupied bv most of 
the small parties on board in such refreshment as bao- or 
basket could supply. Unlike most excursions of the kind, 
it was on the plan of auto-provender — eaten from such laps 
and fingers as Nature" and friendship could supply — and 



212 The Convalescent. 

there was anotlier difference from tlie pleasure-parties on 
our Hudson River ; not a drop of stimulating liquor to be 
seen, either for sale at a " bar," in the boat, or as a part of 
private lunch! Temperance prevails, without a doubt, in 
the navigation of Buzzard's Bay. 

We now began to approach that famous island, which, 
though fourteen miles long and three broad, was bought of 
Thomas Mayhew (its first English possessor after Lord 
Sterling), for the small consideration of thirty pounds and 
two beaver hats — in the words of the deed : " the aforesaid 
to enjoy, and their heirs and assigns forever (Nantucket) 
with all the privileges thereunto belonging, for and in 
consideration of the sum of thirty pounds of current pay, 
and also, two beaver hats, one for myself and one for my 
wlfeP As there were thirty thousand acres of land, this 
amounted, of course, to one thousand acres and two- 
thirtieths of beaver hats, for a single pound sterling ! We 
looked in vain, around the walls of the Nantucket Athe- 
naeum, the next day, for any portraits of " Mr. and Mrs. 
Mayhew " in their two "beaver hats" — and I may express 
my surprise, by the way, at the general dearth of antiqui- 
ties and memorials on the island. Tombstones, I know, 
are against the principles of the Quakers, but does that 
feeling extend to a general discouragement of historical 
mementoes ? 

This last-mentioned superfluity (a tombstone) is one of 



Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 213 

a curious list of things which (it is recorded) the Quakers 
of Nantucket found they could do ivithout. In the old 
book from which I have already quoted (published in 
1*798), it is stated that there had not been a capital pun- 
ishment, or trial for any capital offence, on the island, for 
over a hundred years. And — but I will quote the passage 
or two enumerating their exemptions : 

" There are but two congregations in Sherburn, (the 
capital of Nantucket). They assemble every Sunday in 
meeting-houses, as simple as the dwellings of the people ; 
and there is hut one clergyman on the island (population 
about four thousand). But one single priest to instruct a 
whole island and to direct their consciences ! It is even so. 
This lonely clergyman is a Presbyterian minister, who has a 
very large and respectable congregation ; the other is com- 
posed of Quakers, who, you know, admit of no iiarticular 
person who, in consequence of being ordained, becomes entitled 
to preach J catechise, and receive salary for his trovMe. And 
these two sects live in perfect harmony with each other." 

. . . . " Singular as it may appear to you, there are 
hut two medical men on the island ; for, of what service 
can physic be, in a primitive society, where the excesses of 
inebriation are so rare ?" 

.... " 0?2e6'm^^e ^(ii^yer has, of late years, found means 
to live here ; but his best fortune proceeds more from 
having married one of the wealthiest heiresses of the 
island. He is sometimes employed in recovering money 
lent on the mainland." 

. . . . " Here, happily, unoppressed with any civil 
bondage, this society of fishermen and merchants live, 
without any military establishments, without governors, or 



214 The Convalescent. 

any maulers hut the laws ; and iheir civil code is so liglit 
that, JL is never felt." 

.... "The same simplicity attends the worship 
tiicy pay to the Divinity. Their ciders are the only 
Icachcrs of their con<^rogations, the instructors of their 
y<julh. They visit and comfort the sick. After death the 
society bury thoit. with their fithois, ivlthout pomj), prayers 
or ceremonies. Not a stone or monument is erected^ to teli 
where any ])erson was buiied ; their memory is preserved 
by tradition." 

The temptation to copy a whole chapter of this curious 
book is too great to bo resisted. It is little known, and, as it 
gives a grapliic; picture of what TsTantucket was in the last 
century, it will better pi'epare you for mv own description 
of it, as 1 found it now. 1 will sup])Ose, therefore, that, wliilc 
we are sailing over the twenty or thirty miles of smooth 
sea between Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, you are 
reading as follows : 

"The maniu^i's of tiie * Kriends ' are entirely founded ou 
vhat simplicity which is their boast, :iiul their most distin- 
guished cliaracteristic ; and those manners liavo acquired 
the authority of laws. Here they are strongly attached 
to plainness of dress, as well as to that of language; inso- 
much that, though some part of it may be ungrammatical, 
yet should any person who was boiii and brought up here 
attempt to speak more correctly, he wovdd he looked upon 
«5 rr,/bp, or an innovator. On the other liand, should a 
stranger come liere, and adopt tlieir idiom in all its puritv, 
(as they deem it), this accomplishment would immediately 



Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 215 

procure him the most cordial reception, and they vvould 
cherish him like an ancient member of their society. So 
many impositions have they suffered on this account, that 
they begin, now, indeed, to grow more cautious. They 
are so tenacious 'of their ancient habits of industry and 
frugality, that if any of them were to be seen with a long 
coat made of English cloth, on any other than the first 
day (Sunday) he would be greatly ridiculed and censured; 
he would be looked upon as a careless spendthrift, whom 
it would be unsafe to trust, and in vain to relieve. 

" A few years ago, two single horse chairs were imported 
from Boston, to the great offence of these prudent citizens ; 
nothing appeared to them more culpable than the use of 
such gaudy painted vehicles, in contempt of the more use- 
ful and more simple single-horse carts of their fathers. 
This piece of extravagant and unknown luxury almost 
caused a schism, and set every tongue agoing. Some pre- 
dicted the approaching ruin of those families that had 
imported them ; others feared the dangers of example. 
Never, since the foundation of the town, had there hap- 
pened anything which so much alarmed this primitive com- 
munity. One of the possessors of these profane chairs, 
filled with repentance, wisely sent it back to the continent ; 
the other, more obstinate and perverse, in defiance to all' 
remonstrances, persisted in the use of his chair, until, by 
degrees, they became reconciled to it; though I observe 
that the wealthiest and most respectable people still go to 
meeting, or to their farms, in a single-horse cart^ with a 
decent awning fixed over it. Indeed, if you consider their 
sandy soil, and the badness of the roads, these appear to 
be the best contrived vehicles for this island. 

" Idleness is the most heinous sin that can he committed 
in Nantucket. An idle man would soon be pointed out a? 



216 The Convalescent. 

an object of compassion ; for idleness is considered as an- 
other ^Yord for want and hunger. This principle is so 
thoroughly understood, and is become so universal, so prevail- 
ing a prejudice, that, literally speaking, they are never idle. 
Even if they go to the market-place, which is (if I may be 
allowed the expression) the coffee-house of the town, 
either to transact business, or to converse with their friends, 
they always have a piece of cedar in their hands and while 
they are talking, they will, as it were instinctively, employ 
themselves hi converting it into something useful, either in 
making bungs or spoyls for their oil-casks, or other useful 
articles. I must confess that I have never seen more ina^e- 
nuity in the use of the knife : thus the most idle moments 
of their lives become usefully employed. In the many 
hours of leisure which their long cruises afford them, they 
cut and carve a variety of boxes and pretty toys, in wood, 
adapted to different uses, which they bring home as testi- 
monials of remembrance to their wives or sweethearts. 
They have showed me a variety of little bowls, and other 
implements, executed cooper-wise, with the greatest neat- 
ness and elegance. You will be pleased to remember they 
are all brought up to the trade of coojKrs, be their future 
intentions or fortunes what they may ; therefore, almost 
every man in this island has always two knives in his poc- 
ket — one much, larger than the other : and though they 
hold everything that is called fashion in the utmost con- 
tempt, yet they are as difficult to please, and as extrava- 
gant in the choice and price of their knives, as any young 
buck in Boston would be about his hat, his buckles, or 
coat. As soon as a knife is impaired, or superseded by a 
more convenient one, it is carefully laid up in some corner 
of their desk. I once saw upwards of fifty thus preserved, 
at Mr. "s, one of the worthiest men on this island, 



Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 21 1 

and among the whole, there was not one that perfectly 
resembled anotlier, 

" As the sea excursions are often very long, their vnves, 
in their absence, are necessarily obliged to transact business, 
to settle accounts, and, in short, to rule and provide for 
their families. These circumstances, being often repeated, 
give women the abilities as well as a taste for that kind of 
superintendency, to which, by their prudence and good 
management, they seem to be, in general, very equal. 
This employment ripens their judgment, and justly entitles 
them to a rank superior to that of other wives ; and this 
is the principal reason why those of Nantucket, as well as 
those of Montreal,* are so fond of society, so affable, and so 
<3onversant with the affairs of the world. The men, at 
their return — weary with the fatigue of the sea, and full of 
confidence a,nd love— cheerfully give their consent to 
every transaction that has happened during their 
absence, and all is joy and peace. * Wife, thee hast done 
well^ is the general approbation they receive for their appli- 
cation and industry. What would the men do without the 
agency of these faithful mates ? The absence of so many of 
them at particular seasons, leaves the town quite desolate ; 
and this mournful situation disposes the women to go to each 
other'' s houses much oftener than when their husbands were 
at home : hence the custom of incessant visiting has 
infected every one, and even those whose husbands do not 
go abroad. The house is always clean before they set out, 
and with peculiar alacrity they pursue their intended visit, 
which consists of a social chat, a dish of tea and a heartv 
supper. When the good man of the house returns from 

♦ Most of the merchants and young ;nen of Montreal spend the greatest part 
of their time in trading witli the Indians, at an amazing distance from Canada ; 
and it often happens that they are three yeari? together absent from home. 

10 



218 The Convalescent. 

his labor, he peaceably goes after his wife, and brings her 
home ; meanwhile, the young fellows, equally vigilant, 
easily find out which is the most convenient house, and 
there they assemble with the girls of the neighborhood. 
Instead of cards, musical instruments, or songs, they relate 
storTes of their whaling voyages, their various sea adven- 
tures, and talk of the ditferent coasts and people they have 
visited. ' The Island of Catherine, in the Brazils,' says 
one, ' is a very droll island — it is inhabited by none but 
men ; women are not permitted to come in sight of it ; not 
a woman is there on the whole island. Who among us 
is not 2;lad it is not so here ? The Nantucket Sfirls and 
boys beat the world.' At this innocent sally, the titter 
goes round ; they whisper to one another their spontaneous 
reflections. Puddings, pies, and custards never fail to be 
produced on such occasions ; for I believe there never were 
any people in their circumstances who lived so well, even to 
superabundance. As inebriation is unknown, and musics, 
singing, and dancing are held in equal detestation, they 
never could fill all the vacant hours of their lives without 
the repast of the table. Thus these young people sit and 
talk, and divert themselves as well as they can ; if any one 
has lately returned from a cruise, he is generally the speaker 
of the night; they often all laugh and talk together; but 
they are happy, and would not exchange their pleasures 
for those of the most brilliant assemblies in Europe. This 
lasts until the father and mother return, when all retire to 
their respective homes — the men reconducting the partners 
of their affections. 

"Thus they spend many of the youthful evenings of 
their lives; no wonder, therefore, that they marry so early. 
But no sooner have they undergone this ceremony, than 
they cease to appear so cheerful and gay ; the new rank 



Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 219 

they hold in the society impresses them with more serious 
ideas than were entertained before. The title of master of 
a family necessarily requires more solid behavior and 
deportment. The new wUe follows in the trammels of 
custom, which are as powerful as the tyranny of fashion ; 
she gradually advises and directs. The new husband soon 
goes to sea; he leaves her to learn and exercise the new 
government in which she is entered. Those. who stay at 
home are full as passive, in general at least, with regard to the 
inferior departments of the family. But you must not ima- 
gine, from this account, that the Nantucket wives are turbu- 
lent, of high temper, and difficult to be ruled ; on the con- 
trary, the wives of Sherburn, in so doing, comply only with 
the prevailing custom of the island. The husbands, equally 
submissive to the ancient and respectable manners of their 
country, submit, without ever suspecting that there can be 
any impropriety. Were they to behave otherwise, they 
would be afraid of subverting the principles of their society 
by altering its ancient rules. Thus both parties are per- 
fectly satisfied, and all is peace and concord. 

" The richest person now in the island owes all his present 
prosperity and success, to the ingenuity of his wife. This 
is a known feet, which is well recorded ; for while he was 
performing his first cruises, she traded with pins and 
needles, and kept a school. Afterwards, she purchased 
more considerable articles, which she sold with so much 
judgment that she laid the foundation of a system of busi- 
ness, which she has ever since prosecuted with equal dex- 
terity and success. She wrote to London, formed connec- 
tions, and, in short, became the only ostensible instrument 
of that house, both at home and abroad. Who is he in 
this country, and who is a citizen of Nantucket or Boston, 
who does not know Aunt Kesiah ? I must tell you that 



220 The Convalescent. 

she is the wife of Mr. C n, a very respectable man 

who, well pleased with all her schemes, trusts to her judg- 
ment, and relies on her sagacit}^ with so entire a confidence 
as to be altogether passive as to the concerns of his family. 
They have the best country-seat on the island, at Quayes, 
where they live with hospitality, and in perfect union. He 
seems to be altogether the contemplative man. 

"To this dexterity in managing the husband's business 
while he is absent, the Nantucket ivives unite a great deal 
of industry. They spin, or cause to be spun, in their 
houses, abundance of wool and flax, and would be forever 
disgraced, and looked upon as idlers, if all the family 
were not clad in good, neat, and sufficient homespun cloth. 
First days are the only seasons when it is lawful for both 
sexes to exhibit some garments of English manufacture ; 
even these are of the most moderate price, and of the gra- 
vest colors. There is no kind of difference in their dress; 
thev are all clad alike, and resemble, in that respect, the 
members of one family. 

" A singular custom prevails here, among the women, at 
which I was greatly surprised, and am really at a loss how 
to account for the original cause that has introduced in 
this primitive society so remarkable a fashion, or rather so 
extraordinary a want. They have adopted these many 
years, the Asiatic custom of taking a dose of opium every 
morning ; and so deeply rooted is it, that they would be at 
a loss how to Uve without this indulgence ; they would 
rather be deprived of any necessary than forego their favor- 
ite luxury. This is much more prevailing among the women 
than the men — few of the latter having caught the conta- 
gion ; though the sheriff, whom I may call the first person 
in the island, who is an eminent physician beside, and 
whom I had the pleasure of being well acquainted with, 



Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 221 

has, for many years, submitted to this custom. He takes 
three grains of it every day, after breakfast, without the 
effects of which, he often told me, he was not able to trans- 
act any business. 

" It is hard to conceive how a people always happy and 
healthy, in consequence of the exercise and labor they 
undergo, never oppressed with the vapor of idleness, yet 
should want the factitious effects of opium to preserve that 
cheerfulness to which their temperance, their climate, their 
happy situation, so justly entitle them. But where is the 
society perfectly free from error or folly ? The least imper- 
fect is undoubtedly that where the greatest good prepon- 
derates ; and, agreeable to this rule, I can truly say that I 
never was acquainted with a less vicious, or a more harm- 
less one. 

" The majority of the present inhabitants are the descend- 
ants of the twenty-seven first proprietors, who patented the 
island : of the rest, many others have since come over 
among them, chiefly from the Massachusetts. Here are 
neither Scotch, Irish, nor French, as is the case in most 
other settlements ; they are an unmixed English breed. 
The consequence of this extended connection is, that they 
are all in some degree related to each other. You must 
not be surprised, therefore, when I tell you that they always 
call each other cousin^ uncle, or aunt, which are become 
such common appellations that no other are made use of 
in their daily intercourse. You would be deemed stiff and 
affected, were you to refuse conforming yourself to this 
ancient custom, which truly depicts the image of a large 
family. The many who reside here that have not the 
least claim of relationship with any one in the town, yet 
by the power of custom make use of no other address in 
their conversation. Were you here yourself but a few 



222 The Convalescent. 

days, you would be obliged to adopt the same phraseology, 
which \^ far from being disagreeable^ as it implies a general 
acquaintance and friendship^ which connects them all in 
unity and peace. 

"Their taste for fishing has been so prevailing that it 
has engrossed all their attention, and even prevented them 
from introducing some higher degree of perfection in their 
agriculture. There are many useful improvements which 
might have meliorated their soil. There are many trees 
which, if transplanted here, would have thriven extremely 
well, and would have served to shelter, as well as decor- 
ate, the favorite spots they have so carefully manured. The 
red cedar, the locust, the button-wood, I am persuaded, 
would have grown here rapidly and to great size, with 
many others; but their thoughts are turned altogether 
toward the sea. The Indian corn begins to yield them 
considerable crops ; and the wheat sown on its stocks is 
become a very profitable grain. Rye will grow with little 
care. They might raise, if they would, immense quantities 
of buckwheat. 

" Such an island, inhabited as I have described, is not 
the place where gay travellers should resort, in order to 
enjoy that variety of pleasures the more splendid towns of 
this continent afford. Not that they are wholly deprived 
of what we might call recreations and innocent pastimes ; 
but opulence, instead of luxuries and extravagances, pro- 
duces nothing more, here, than an increase of business, an 
additional degree of hospitality, greater neatness in the 
preparation of dishes, and better wines. They often walk 
and converse with each other, as I have observed 'before; 
and upon extraordinary occasions will taJce a ride to Pal- 
pus, where there is a house of entertainment ; but these 
rural amusements are conducted upon the same plan of 



Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 223 

moderation as those iu town. They are so simple as 
hardly to be described. The pleasure of g^oing and return- 
ing together, of chatting and walking about, of throwing 
the bar, heaving stones, etc., are the only entertainments 
they are acquainted with. This is all they practise, and 
all they seem to desire. 

" The house at Palpus is the general resort of those who 
possess the luxury of a horse and chaise, as well as those 
who still retain, as the majority do, a predilection for their 
primitive vehicle. By resorting to that place, they enjoy 
a change of air, they taste the pleasures of exercise : per- 
haps an exhilarating bowl, not at all improper in this cli- 
mate, aflbrds the chief indulgence known to th^se people 
on the days of their greatest festivity. The mounting a 
horse must afford a most pleasing exercise to those men who 
are so much at sea. I was once invited to that house, and 
had the satisfaction of conducting thither one of the many 
beauties of that island (for it abounds with handsome 
women), dressed in all the bewitching attire of the most 
charming simplicity. Like the rest of the company, she 
was cheerful without loud laughs, and smiling, without 
affectation. They all appeared gay, without levity. I had 
never before in my life seen so much unaffected mirth 
mixed with so much modesty. The pleasures of the day 
were enjoyed with the greatest liveliness and the most inno- 
cent freedom — no disgusting pruderies, no coquettish airs, 
tarnished this enlivening assembly ; they behaved accord- 
ing to their native dispositions, the only rules of decorum 
with which they were acquainted. What would an Euro- 
pean visitor have done here without a fiddle, without a 
dance, without cards ? He would have called it an insipid 
assembly, and ranked this among the dullest days he had 
ever spent. This rural excursion had a very great affinity 



224 The Co.xvalescent. 

to those practised in our province, with this difference 
only, that we have no objection to the .sportive dance, 
though conducted by the rough accents of some self-taught 
African fiddler. We returned as happy as we went ; and 
the brightness of the moon kindly lengthened a day which 
had passed, like other agreeable ones, with singular ra- 
pidity. 

"Learned travellers, returned from seeing the paintings 
and antiquities of Rome and Italy, still tilled with the 
admiration and reverence they inspire, would have hardly 
been persuaded that so contemptible a spot, which contains 
nothing remarkable but the genius and the industry of its 
inhabitants, could ever be an object worthy attention. But 
I, having never seen the beauties which Europe contains, 
cheerfully satisfy myself with attentively" examining what 
my native country exhibits. If we have neither ancient 
amphitheatres, gilded palaces, nor elevated spires — we 
enjoy, in our woods, a substantial happiness, which the 
wonders of art cannot communicate. None among us 
suffer oppression, either from government or religion : 
there are very few poor, except the idle ; and, fortunately, 
the force of example, and the most ample encouragement, 
soon create a new principle of activity, which had been 
extinguished, perhaps, in their native country, for want of 
those opportunities which so often compel honest Euro- 
peans to seek shelter among ns. The means of procuring 
subsistence in Europe are limited ; the army may be full, 
the navy may abound wath seamen, the land, perhaps, 
wants no additional laborers, the manufacturer is over- 
charged with supernumerary hands ; what, then, must 
become of the unemployed ? Here, on the contrary, human 
industry has acquired a boundless field to exert itself in — 
a field which will not be fully cultivated in many ages !" 



The ■ First-born Poetry of the Island. 225 

With this charming budget of information, I have so 
far extended my letter, that I must defer, till another week, 
the entering fairly upon my travels in ISTantucket. If your 
ignorance v^as at all measurable by my own, you will thank 
me for the manner in which I have first taken pains to 
look up authorities and instruct you as to the island's his- 
tory and statistics. But, to make sure of your sympathies, T 
will add still another piece of information — Nantucket has 
produced a poet! The following verses are extracted from 
a production called "A Looking-glass for the Times," written 
in 1676, by Peter Folger, a citizen of Sherborne, the capi- 
tal of the Island. 



" New England for these many years 

Hath had both rest and peace, 
But now the case is otherwise ; 

Our troubles do increase. 
The plague of war is now begun 

In some great colonies, 
And many towns are desolate 

We may see with our eyes. 
The loss of many goodly men 

We may lament also, 
Who in the war have lost their lives 

And fallen by our foe. 
Our women also they have took, 

And children very small, 
Great cruelty they have used 

To some, though not to all. 



10* 



226 The Convalescent. 

The cause of this their suffering 

Was not for any sin, 
But for the witness that they bare 

Against babes sprinkling. 
***** 
I would not have you for to think 

Though I have wrote so much 
That I hereby do throw a stone 

At magistrates, as suchx 
But that which I intend hereby 

Is that they would keep bounds. 
And meddle not with God's worship 

For which they have no ground. 

* * * * =;f 

If we do love our brethren 

And do to them, I say, 
As we would they should do to us, 

We should be quiet straightway. 
***** 

If that you do mistake the verse 

For its uncomely dress, 
I tell thee true, I never thought 

That it would pass the press. 

" If any at the- matter kick 

It's like he's galled at heart 
And that's the reason why he kicks 
Because he finds it smart. 

" From Sherborne town, where now I dwell, 
My name I do put here 
Without offence your real friend. 
It is Peter Folger." * 

* Of this Ossian of Nantucket, we find in the history of the island, the fol- 
lowing incidental mention :— " The first mill of which we have any record, was 
one built in 1666, for grinding corn. During the previous year, the town voted 
to have a mill to grind their grain, which was to go by horse power. This vote, 
we know not for what reason, was not carried into effect. The one which 
they erected was carried by water, and was located on Nesco Pond. Peter 



Peter Folger. 221 

And, with this introduction, to you, of the earliest poet 

of Nantucket (and the only one who has yet been heard 

of, I believe), I will, ray dear Morris, close my letter for 

this week. 

Yours alwavs. 



Folger was agreed with to keep this mill, and his toll was fixed at two quarts 
for each bushel. This Peter Folger was an inhabitant of Martha's Vineyard. 
He was invited to remove with his family to Nantucket, to officiate as miller, 
weaver and interpreter of the Indian language ; his son Eleazar was to act as 
shoemaker ; and, as a proper encouragement to their several occupations, a 
grant of one-half of a share of land, with all the accommodations thereunto 
belonging, was made to the father He accepted the invitation, and, in 1663, 
remived thither. Besides laboring in the callings above mentioned, he acted 
as surveyor of land." It will thus be seen, that, besides being a poet, Peter 
Folger was Nantucket's smartest man — miller, weaver, interpieter, surveyor — 
a proof of a theory of our own, as to the natural pluri-'cuteness of a poet, 
which it is charming to put on record. 

P. S. Since copying the above, we have lighted upon another historical 
record, explaining who, (and how otherwise famous), was the mother of Peter 
Folger's " shoemaker son " — an addition to the " Loves of the Poets " that will 
not be uninteresting. The author of " Miiiam Coffin, or the Whale-Fisher- 
men," says : — » 

" Mary Morriel, the great-grandmothe)' of Dr. Benjamin Franklin was 
maid-servant in the family of the Rev. Hugh Peters, one of the chaplains of 
Cromwell, who fled from England in the year 1662. Peter Folger, the first 
of the name who came to Nantucket, was passenger on board the same vessel, 
and became enamored of the maid, who was a buxom sensible lass, and won 
the heart of Feter by laughing at hin sea-sickness and betraying no fear of 
hilge-icater. Peter admired the cheerful endurance of Mary Morriel so mucifi 
upon the voyage, that he proffered his hand to the maid, and bargained for her 
with the greedy old hunks, her master, and counted out to him the enormous 
sum of twenty pounds sterling, all his worldly store, for the remaining term of 
her servitude. He forthwith married the lass, and apparently had no cause of 
repentance ; for "he always boasted afterward of having ' made a good bar- 
gain.' " 



LETTER XXIV. 

Arrival at Nantucket— Peculiar Vehicle of the Island— Ramble in the Town 
the first Evening— Disappointment in the Physiognomy of the Place— "Msit to 
an Old Inhabitant — The Macy Family — Picture of the last Indian Native of 
the Island — His Pride about Shoes — Kadooda and his Laws — Band of Music 
— Curious Nantucket Predjudices, formerly, on the Subject, etc., etc. 

New Bedford, September 18. 
Our sixty-mile voyage to Xantiicket drew to a close, some- 
where about four in the bright and propitioiis afternoon, 
and, with the reluctant permission of a very shallow sand- 
bar, we scraped our way into the harbor. To the satchel- 
shaped island, this curving bay is like the month of a con- 
venient pocket, and it is the calamity of the place that the 
almost innavigable sand-bar acts like too tight a button 
upon it. The difficulty of getting in and out with their 
whaleships, the necessity of unlading by lighters, and of 
sending their vessels to more convenient harbors for repairs, 
are obstacles to maritime prosperity, under which this 
home for whalemen threatens to become desolate. 

The coming of the steamer with its load of strangers, 
was an event to the remote island, and (as at Martha's 
Vineyard) the population was largely represented on the 
pier. We had numerous offers of a ride, as we landed ; 

228 



Peculiar Vehicle of the Island. 229 

but, taking our way leisurely on foot, we had an opportu- 
nity to observe the style of the private carriages in which 
the islanders had come upon their errand to the wharf. 
They are peculiar to Nantucket*, I believe — a sort of pew 
upon two wheels, or a box without seats, simply to stand 
up in, and with high sides around which runs a rope to 
hold ou by. The steps are behind ; and the half-dozen 
ladies who were the load for the single horse, jumped in 
and out with wonderful alacrity, changing places and 
stepping about, from side to side, as the animal trotted 
away, with curious facility of accommodation. For short 
distances, these light pew-carts are certainly comfortable 
enough, and they are singularly " handy " and available — 
vehicles, in fact, to take a walk in ; or two-wheeled over- 
shoes drawn by a horse. I should not forget to mention 
the chief economy of thus standing instead of sitting, as 
you ride — the natural instinct of easing the jolt by bending 
the knees, obviating, of course, the necessity of springs to 
the cart. Every passenger carries his own springs. So 

* In " Miriam Coffin," the scenes of which are laid at Nantucliet, these vehi- 
cles are tlius mentioned : " A train of one-horse, two-wheeled, springless car- 
riages, were got ready to the number of half a dozen, which were seen emerg- 
ing from the outskirts of the town on a pleasant morning toward the close of 
September, 1774. There were then no carriages with springs. It was many- 
years after this before even a chaise was tolerated on the island; and when 
two of these, with wooden elbow springs, were introduced by some of the 
wealthier families, the hue and cry of persecution was set up against them ; 
and their owners were fain to abandon the monstrosities. One chaise, however, 
was allowed to be retained by an invalid ; but it is related that even he was 
not permitted to keep and use it, unless upon all proper occasions he would 
consent to lend it for the use of the sick." 



230 The Convalescent. 

light might the vehicle be made, in fact, with its omission i 
and substitutions, that it would answer also to be drawn 
bj hand — a kind of hermaphrodite convenience serving 
either as a carriage or a wheelbarrow. I intend to improve 
the civilization of Idlewild, with one of these Nantucket 
sensibles (for lady-visitors to take walks with, up and down 
our long hills) immediately on my return. 

With a few minutes' walk we came to a very usual sort 
of brick hotel, and sat down with a hundred other 
guests, summer-boarders and new arrivals, to a meal that 
was just ready — excellent broiled fish and tea most lib- 
erally watered — and, with the hour of daylight which still 
remained to us " after tea," we started for a ramble. Mr, 
Grinnell and I had rambled together, before, on stiange 
islands ; and, in pretty strong contrast with what we now 
saw, were our remembrances of Bermuda and Sl Thomas, 
of Havana and Martinique. But, in the curious labyrinth 
of Nantucket's twisted streets, mv accustomed fellow- 
adventurer was more at home than I, and we cork-screwed 
our way safely along a gradual ascent of sidewalks to the 
best-built neighborhood of the town. And I must own to 
an entire failure of my anticipations as to its character. 
Coming with a predominant impression got from reading the 
original bill of sale, by the Indians (" These presents witness. 
May the tenth, 1660, that we, Wanackmamack and Nick- 
anoose, head Sachems of Nantucket Island, do give, grant. 



The Macy Family. 231 

bargain and sell," etc., etc.), I was disappointed to find only 
tbe tidy respectability of a thrifty little town, with clean and 
handsome white houses, neat fences, planted front yards, 
window-curtains and door-bells. No sign of a wigwam, no 
print of a moccasin, no squaw with pappoose ! Famous, 
too, the world over, for its fisheries, and yet no whale's fin 
to be seen for a window-Mind, no old gentleman with a 
harpoon for a walking-stick, no front door with a shark's 
tooth for a knocker. And even the contrast of poor folks 
and their dwellings was nowhere to be seen. Every soul 
whom we met seemed to be in a state of prosaically happy 
competency, and every house looked as if its owner had all 
that he had any taste for. Life at Nantucket looked, 
somehow, most monotonously comfortable. 

Under the porch of one of the best houses of the prin- 
cipal street, we found an elderly Quaker gentleman and his 
wife, enjoying the softness of the summer twilight; and in 
the cordial greeting given by these to my companion, 1 
was happily a sharer. Our beloved old friend Sands had 
been a o-uest under the roof, and he had affectionately 
remembered us (while here, just before his death) — 
making them acquainted, by his kindly mention, with his 
Idlewild neighbors. It was sweet to gather, so far off, a 
flower sown for us by that dear old man ! Mr. Macy, 
into whose house we now entered, was the son of the his- 
torian of Nantucket, Obed Macy, and, as the lineal descen- 



232 The Convalescent. 

dants of Thomas Macy, the first white settler on the island, 
theirs is a prominent name. The original type of the family 
seems to have been most faithfully handed down ; for, 
a perfect portraiture of the manners and countenance of 
our host is given in the spirit and dignity of the beautiful 
letter which I will presently copy — the one written by the 
first Thomas Macy, just before his first coming to Nan- 
tucket, It is explanatory of what first brought him here ; 
and, indeed, so interestingly does it read, that I will copy 
the two or three pages of history which embody it. Chap- 
ter two thus opens : 

" The first emigration of the whites, or English, to the 
island being one of the most interesting parts of this ac- 
count, we shall endeavor to be as explicit on the subject as 
the nature of the work, and the means possessed, will ad- 
mit. Our information, however, falls far short of what is 
necessary to form a complete history. 

" Thomas Macv beinof the first settler, it will not be 
deemed a heedless digression to state what we know of his 
early biography. In the year 1640, being then a young 
man, he moved with his family from the town of Chilmark, 
in Wiltshire, England, and settled in Salisbury, county of 
Essex, in Massachusetts, He lived here in good repute for 
twenty years, where he acquired a good interest, consisting 
of a tract of land of one thousand acres, a good house and 
considerable stock. But when this part of the country 
became more thickly settled by the English, dissensions 
arose among the people in regard to religion and religious 
denominations. Notwithstanding the purpose of their 



Letter of Thomas Macy. 233 

emigration from their mother country was that they might 
enjoy liberty of conscience in religious matters, they them- 
selves commenced the work of persecution, and enacted 
laws to restrain people from worshipping God according to 
the dictates of their consciences. Among other restraints 
a law was made, that any person who should entertain one 
of the people called Quakers should pay a fine of five 
pounds for every hour during which he so entertained 
them. Thomas Macy subjected himself to the rigor of 
this law, by giving shelter to four Quakers, who stopped at 
his house in a rain storm. This act was soon sounded 
abroad ; for, being influenced by a sense of duty, he had 
used no means to conceal it, Beino; cited to answer 
for the ofience, he addressed the following letter to the 
court, the original of which is preserved in the cabinet of 
the Nantucket Athenaeum : 

" ' This is to entreat the honored court not to be offended 
because of ray non-appearance. It is not from my slighting 
the authority of the honored court, nor fear to answer the 
case ; but have been for some weeks past very ill, and am so 
at present ; and notwithstanding my illness, yet I, desirous 
to appear, have done my utmost endeavor to hire a horse, 
but cannot procure one at present. I, being at present des- 
titute, have endeavored to purchase one, but at present 
cannot attain it — but I shall relate the truth of the case, 
as my answer would be to the honored court — and more 
cannot be proved nor so much. On a rainy morning, 
there came to my house, Edward Wharton, and three men 
more; the said Wharton spoke to me, saying that they 
were travelling eastward, and desired me to direct them in 
the war to Hampton ; and never saw any of the men afore 
except Wharton, neither did I inquire their names or what 



234 The Convalescent. 

thev were ; but bv their carriao-e I thouafbt they mio-ht be 
Quakers, and said I so : and therefore desired them to pass 
on, in tbeir way — saying to them, I might possibly give 
ofience in entertaining them, and as soon as the violence of 
the rain ceased (for it rained hard), they went away, and I 
never saw them since. The time that they stayed in tbe 
house was about three-quarters of an hour ; they spoke 
not many words, in the time, neither was I at leisure to talk 
with them ; for I came home wet to the skin, immediately 
afore they came to the house ; and I found my wife sick in 
bed. If this satisfy not the honored court, I shall submit 
to their sentence. I have not willingly offended — I am 
ready to serve and obey you in the Lojd. 

Thomas Macy. 

♦"27 0/ 8«^ mo. '59, [1659.] 

" He could now live no longer in peace, and in the enjoy- 
ment of religious freedom, among his own nation ; he chose, 
therefore, to remove his family to a place unsettled by the 
tvhites, to take up his abode among savages, where he could 
safely imitate the example and obey the precepts of our 
Saviour, and where religious zeal had not yet discovered a 
crime in hospitality, nor the refinements of civil law a pun- 
ishment for its practice. In the fall of 1659, he embarked 
in an open boat, with his family and such effects as he 
could conveniently take with him, and, with the assistance 
of Edward Starbuck, proceeded along the shore to the 
westward. When they came to Boston Bay, they crossed 
it, passed round Cape Cod and extended their coarse by 
the shore, until they were abreast of the island to the 
northward, thence they crossed the Sound, and landed on 
Nantucket without accident. Thus we see that the same 
persecuting spirit that drove our forefathers from England, 
drove Thomas Macy from our forefathers; that the same 



Macy Examines the Island. 235 

undaunted courage which enabled them to breast the 
storm, and dare the wave, in search of a free altar and a 
safe home, prompted him, in search of the same blessings, 
to meet the same dangers. He sacrificed his property and 
his home to his religion ; he found both in a remote 
region hitherto hardly known. His religion — we mean 
not its name, but its spirit — has been transmitted to the 
present generation, unsullied by the crime of persecution, 
or by the disgrace of inhospitality. 

" The first care of these strangers was to cultivate a good 
understanding with the natives, whom they found very 
numerous, and who flocked around them with seeming 
amazement, having never before had an opportunity to see 
English people on the island. The natives were kind and 
hospitable, and readily lent their aid and assistance when- 
ever they could make themselves useful — being fully satis- 
fied that these new comers had not landed among them 
with hostile intentions, but in search of a comfortable sub- 
sistence. Macy now examined the island adjacent to the 
place of landing, and finally chose a spot for settlement on 
the southeast side of Madaket harbor, where he found a 
rich soil and an excellent spring of water. The harbor 
above mentioned was undoubtedly thought to be more con- 
venient for navigation than the one on which the town is 
now built ; but when the island became more peopled, the 
present situation of the town was preferred to Madaket, and 
the latter was accordingly abandoned. 

" It being now late in the fall, the fir^t care was to build 
a shelter for the family against the inclemency of the 
approaching season. After this wa3 accomplished, they 
commenced a particular examination of the character of 
the place and of the people. They found the island covered 
with wood, and inhabited by about fifteen hundred Indians, 



236 The ConvaleoCent. 

who depended for subsistence on fishing, fowling, and hunt- 
ing. Game was remarkably plenty, and continued so 
many years afterward; and the adjacent shores and waters 
abounded with many kinds of fish. Here they spent the 
winter — a single family, confined on an island among 
native Indians, of whose character and language they were 
almost entirely ignorant. In the spring following, Edward 
Starbuck found means to return to Salisbury, where he 
was met with rejoicings, by his friends, who, sensible of his 
hazardous undertaking, had felt doubtful of his safe return. 
He was now able to give satisfactory information concern- 
ing many important things, of which before they were 
entirely ignorant. This information was the more interest- 
ing because, as appears by the earliest records, a considera- 
ble number of the people of Salisbury had it in contempla- 
tion to remove with their families to the island, about the 
time when Thomas Macy v/ent there. In 1G60, Edward 
Starbuck returned to the island, accompanied by eight or 
ten families." 

A note to this chapter states that two of the four travel- 
lers who were thus sheltered from the storm by Thomas 
Macy, were hanged afterwards in Boston (in 1G59), "/or 
supporting the Christian principle as believed by the people 
called QuaJcersP Let us venture to express a wonder, 
whether, in the soil of Boston, there still lurks any of the 
indigenous quality, which, two centuries ago, produced 
that foul weed of intolerance ! 

Mr. Macy took us to the upper rooms of his spacious 
house, to show us the old family portraits — all corrobora- 



Picture of the Last Indian Native. 237 

tive of the same impression produced by his own counte- 
nance and by the foregoing history — and, after a delight- 
ful and most instructive hour of conversation with him, we 
took our leave — myself enriched, additionally, by the pre- 
sent of a copy of the History of Nantucket, written by his 
father. 

Before getting to bed, that night, we received a message 
from another gentleman of this name — Mr. Macy, who 
has just married the sister of Miss Mitchell, the famous 
astronomer-ess of Nantucket — kindly inviting us over to 
the Athenaeum, where was a picture which we had wished 
to see. Chancing to follow upon our steps, he had heard 
of our disappointment in finding the building closed ; and, 
being himself the Librarian, he had most hospitably lighted 
the rooms and sent us word. We walked over in the glow 
of a moon which made even the angular lines of the stiff 
architecture of the town look picturesque, and, in the new 
structure containing the public library, found Mr. Macy 
and his lady awaiting us. 

The picture we had wished to see, hung upon the wall 
— a full-length portrait of Abraham Quary, the last 
Indian of Nantucket, who died but recently. Of his espe- 
cial habits and history I omitted, in the press of conversa- 
tion, to inform myself, but, perhaps, a mention of him 
which I find in " Miriam CoflSn," will prepare the reader 
to be interested in the picture. One of the characters in 



238 The Convalescent. 

this semi-historical novel is " Quibby," an Indian murderer, 
the only one ever executed on the island. " Tashima," an 
Indian chief who became eminent as a schoohn aster, is an- 
other character. And " Judith Quary," an Indian prophet- 
ess, who figures largely in the story, is the guilty love of 
the murderer. The concluding chapter of the novel says : 

"The body of Quibby was claimed by Judith Quary, 
who, in all his confinement, and in his last moments, ap- 
peared to be the only friend he possessed upon the island, 
It was yielded at her request; for the authorities believed, 
with the celebrated John Wilkes, that a man is of no fur- 
ther use after he is hanged. She caused it to be carried 
to her lonely hut, where she enveloped it in decent habili- 
ments, and dug his solitary grave with her own hands. 
The tie that bound Judith to this Indian, was even stronger 
than death : — crime itself could not sever it. The off- 
spring of Quibby and the half-breed, Judith Quary, is still 
living upon the island, and is a man quite advanced in 
vears. As the name of Quibby was odious to the people 
he took that of his mother, which he still bears. He is the 
last of the Indian race that once owed allegiance to Tash- 
ima. Without a known relative on the face of the earth, 
he wanders about the island, an object of curiosity, possess- 
ing all the peculiarities of the Indian, developed in his mind 
and person. The lineaments of his face are those that a 
painter or sculptor might choose to copy after, with the 
certainty of transmitting to posterity an accurate and 
strongly marked specimen of the aboriginal countenance." 

Of a human relic like this, the portraiture is, of course, 
most interesting to preserve ; and Abraham Quary is appar- 



Kadooda and his Laws. 239 

ontly most truthfully painted. He is represented sitting in 
the little room which was his home, and its scanty furni- 
ture, as well as his dress and habitual posture, is faithfully 
copied. The accustomed baskets of berries and vegetables 
stand on the floor behind him, but, by the side of his chair 
stand his shoes, and he is represented barefooted. Mr. 
Macy told us that the painter had some trouble on this last 
point — the old Indian proudly refusing to be painted with 
naked feet, though he mo.st commonly was so seen — par- 
ticularly as he had the shoes if he had chosen to wear 
them. A compromise was finally made, and he consented 
to be painted barefoot, if the shoes ivere introduced into the 
picture. The old man's figure is somewhat bent, but his 
head has a calm and benignant nobleness of expression. 
He was never seen to smile, and he seemed never to 
notice what passed around him ; but he was always kind, 
and gentle, and it was well known that nothing escaped his 
observation. 

There was another well known Nantucket Indian, of 
whom I regretted not to find some portraiture or histori- 
cal relic — the one whose name has become classic in the 
phrase " Kadooda's laws." In the hope of suggesting to 
public opinion a little salutary Kadoodity , as to lawsuits, 
I will copy the historical mention which is made of the 
sensible old Indian by Obed Macy : 

"This neglect (by the Indians) finally became so trouble- 



240 The Convalescent. 

some to the white settlers, that, in process of time, it 
became necessary to resort to some remedy. The expedient 
adopted was this : One of the most firm and intelligent of 
the natives, by the name of Kadooda, was selected and 
deputized as an auxiliary justice of the peace. It was made 
his duty to decide on such complaints for trivial offences 
as mio-ht come before him. Neolect of tillins: the 
ground was not one of the least crimes that came under 
his jurisdiction. In some instances he was authorized, or 
rather indulged, to inflict corporal punishment. His mode 
of administering justice was, in many cases, found of real 
benefit; yet, in some others, the legal justices found their 
interference necessary, since Esquire Kadooda was liable 
to extend his authority beyond the bounds of prudence. It 
is related, we cannot say with what correctness, that, in 
some cases brought before him, his jimt proceeding tvas to 
order both 2Mrties to be severely/ ivhipioed. It is furthei' said 
that this p7-ocess had the effect of lessening the number of 
com2)laints and rendering his duties light : and that, other- 
wise his whole time would have been taken up in the du- 
ties of his calling. Whatever may be the truth of the 
matter, one thing is certain, that ' Kadooda's laws ' have 
beconie proverbial, and it is not going too far, we think, to 
say that their adoption, even in our times, if not strictly 
legal, would, in some instances, be morally just," 

So, pass that phrase around, say we, and let it be the 
first question in a lawsuit — isn't it a Kadooda case ?^ 



* In Macy's quaint and pithy History of Nantucket, there is an instance 
given of Kadooda's administration of justice. He says of His Indian Honor 
" He was justice of the peace and very shai-p with them if they did not behave 
well. He would fetch them up if they did not tend their corn well, and order 
them to have tea stripes on their backs, and for any rogue tricks and getting 
drunk. And if his own children played any r6gue tricks, he would serve them 



A Band of Music. 241 

To our very great surprise, towards nine o'clock in th© 
evening, we found a band of music playing in the town- 
square near the hotel. This open and flagrant anti-Puri- 
tanism was so wholly unlike all we had heard of the tone 
and temper of Nantucket that we strolled towards it scarce 
trusting our senses. By the light of the full moon, how 
ever, it proved to he a veritable this world's drum, a pro- 
fanely positive fife and French-horn, and a carnally com- 
mon and rather overworked clarionet — bassoon and other 
nameless instruments in the background. A hundred or 
two of boys and sailors were crowding around, and I 
noticed that great numbers of girls were strolling in the 
square, apparently without any idea that an attemlant was 
necessary. Our sex, I believe, is more of a superflu- 
ity at Nantucket than in any other spot of the known 
world. The band, we were told, is a native one, recently 
organized, and that it is a very great innovation upon the 
spirit of the place, may be seen by a passage in the chann- 
ing book from which I have already quoted. The author 
says : 

the same sauce. An Indian was broioght up for some rogue tricks, and he 
pleaded for an appeal to Esquire Bunker ; and the old judge (Kadooda) turned 
round to Nathan (a white man present) and spoke in the Indian language thus : 
' Ohaquor keador taddator witche conichau mussoy chaquor ;' then said Nathan 
answered thus : ' Martau couetchawidde neconne sassamiste nehote moche 
Squire Bunker !' which, in the English tongue, is this—' What do you think about 
this great business?' then Nathan answered: 'May be you had better whip 
him first, then let him go to Squire Bunker !' and Judge Kadooda took Natha/rCs 
advice. He was sure the Indian would not appeal to Esquire Bunker, for 
fear of another whipping." 

11 



242 The Convalescent. 

"A ball — or a dance, if you will have it so — came but 
seldom at Nantucket, Indeed we have heard (though we 
hope the report of the result is a slander), that a concert 
of instrumental rnusic, which is accounted not half so 
wicked as a dance, was proposed to be given to the inhab- 
itants of that place, not many years ago, as the best and 
most accej)table return that could be made for hospitality 
shown to a numerous cargo of fashionables, who had been 
landed by one of our floating castles or steamers, and was 
defeated by the stiff-necked perversity of the Selectmen. 
A celebrated musical band accompanied the steamer, and 
they proffered a display of their talents at the town-house 
for the gratification of the townspeople. It is related that 
the town-crier had sounded his bell, and cried his ' oyez ' 
three times at the corners of the streets, to warn the good 
people (we give his identical words) that 'A celebrated 
consort of vocal and instrumental music would be given by 
the celebrated Bostin band at the town-house ; and the 
ladies and gentlemen were invited to attend punctually, 
free-gratis-for-nothin' at six o'clock, p.m., in the afternoon I 
Again came the ' oyez'' three times at the next corner, until 
all the town was duly notified. Hearts beat high with 
expectations, and dresses and ribbons, bonnets and curls, 
were in a pretty considerable state of readiness to make a 
due degree of display at the town-house. But — alas ! — the 
town-crier, with sadness in his heart, and bitterness in his 
speech, was obliged to retrace his steps, and tinkle his bell 
again, and cry his ' oyez ' to another tune. ' Ladies and 
gentlemen,' cried he, ' I am sorry to inform you that the 
celebrated consort by the celebrated Bostin band, which 
was to be given free-gratis-for-nothin', at the town-house at 
six o'clock, P.M., in the afternoon, is postponed ! — because, 
ladies and gentlemen, the S'lackraen will not open the 



We Retire to Rest. 243 

town-house — unless the Bostin band pays them ten dol- 
tors/ . . . Dancing and music, then, may be set down as 
abominations at Nantucket." 

Pretty well tired with our very various experiences of 
the day, we inquired the roa,d to dream-land, towards ten 
o'clock — my boy, Grinnell (who was of our party) having 
gone thither before us, and he and his papa and grandpapa 
being considered by the landlord a natural triplet, and bil- 
leted in one room with two beds. The three generations, 
I believe, for the remainder of the night, left the waking 
to the moon. 

Our journey of the next day, over the sand-prairies to 
Siasconset (the Nantucket Saratoga), must be the theme 
of still another letter, I believe, dear Morris, so 

Yours, thus far, at least. 



LETTER XXV. 

Mounting a Nantucket Steeple — Sensations in the Belfry — Curious Spanish Bell — 
Ti-ip to 'Sconset— Funny Laws of the Place— Queer Poem — Arrival at the Ar- 
cadian Village — Hour on the Beach before Dinner— Sea-Mockery of Life's 
Story — Meeting with Ladies — Chowder-Time and Entrance to the Inn — The 
Manly Landlady — Excellent Dinner — Puppet-show of Whale-ships — Sharks on 
the Beach — Whittling-Room— Philosophy of Whittling — Heturn to Nantucket, 
etc., etc. 

New Bedford, September. 
I COME now, I believe, to my own travels and adventures 
in the far-away island of Nantucket. 

Sea-air is drowsy, I always find, and we awoke late, on 
our first morning in the sperm-city. Of course we break- 
fasted on that wonder of nature, perfectly fresh fish 
caught in perfectly salt water ; and with the spare hour 
which we then had, before our day's expedition across the 
island, we started for a stroll. My guide and companion, 
Mr. Grinnell, is famous, as you know, for approaching 
every subject by first getting a clear look at the horizon ; 
and, selecting the tallest steeple in the place, he was suc- 
cessful in borrowing the key, and we mounted to the belfry 
for the circumscopic view which should enable us to enter 
upon our day's travels understandingly. To me, the extent 
thus gained, however instructive, was too monotonous to be 

244 



Curious Spanish Bell, 245 

very inviting. I am no enthusiast about the sea (Nature, 
with her smiles and wrinkles all smoothed expressionlessly 
away !) and, though my eyes were not out of breath (as the 
rest of me certainly was, with the climb up those inter- 
minable stairs), I looked around with more curiosity than 
pleasure — Kantucket roofs, you understand, being the very 
tame foreground, and the middle ground of the landscape 
being nothing but an island of sand. 

I was more interested myself, in what was nearer — the 
hell hanging in the belfry we stood in. It had the sign of 
the cross upon it, and an inscription in Spanish, and was 
among the " spoils of war " — a whaling captain, who had 
chanced to put into Lisbon when Napoleon was upsetting 
thrones and churches in that quarter of the world, having 
purchased this Catholic relic for a few dollars and brought 
it home to do service (as the church would phrase it) " for 
the devil." It is of remarkably sweet tone, and rings Yan- 
kee heretics to their breakfast and dinner, I am inclined to 
believe, quite as musically as it ever called Portuguese 
saints to their matins and vespers — (and it is listened for 
as devoutly, perhaps, by the friers of cod, as it used to be 
by \h.Q friars of souls /) 

But, all this while, the town clock was ticking audibly at 
our elbow — and, do you know the sensation of getting thus, 
as it were, inside the brain of old Time while he is think- 
ing out the minutes? It was queer to me, somehow, to 



24 G The Convalescent. 

stand in that cogitating belfry ! I felt as if I had got the 
start of the hand upon the dial — " in," at the conception of 
moments, instead of being "in at their death." And then 
— startlino-lv enouQ-h — it " struck nine " while we were 
there ! Nine awful strokes upon the very drum of my 
mortal ear, and none the less awful for our previous inti- 
macy (yours and mine, my dear sinner and song-writer !) 
with the "tuneful Nine." I was quite as much struck as the 
bell, by that terrible clock hammer — however little the 
public weathercock over our heads {iha.t vane reliance!) 
may have vibrated sympathizingly with the shock. 

We were to start, at ten, for our excursion to Siasconset ; 
and, on reaching the hotel, we found our pew-cart (the 
native vehicle described in my last letter) already at the 
door. Though built to carry passengers standing, this one 
had an accommodation in the shape of a couple of cross 
seats, for the use of strangers. Mr. Grinnell was to be our 
driver ; and with a snug little horse to draw us the eight 
miles, we went off upon our journey at a round trot. The 
street, of course, lasted very little way. We were soon 
out in the unfenced prairie of sand — a slightly undulating 
surface of treeless and shirtless -looking country, so like to 
the desert I remembered on the route to Sardis in Asia, 
that T almost looked to see the turbaned traveller in the 
distance, approaching on his camel. It was difficult to 
believe that this waste was once covered with wood. Yet 



Funny Laws of 'Sconset. 247 

so tradition tells us. The pine trees were sacrificed with- 
out thouD-ht or foresio-ht, and the thin soil had not the 
strength to reproduce them. I should not omit to mention 
that we saw, here and there, patches of young pines, a 
foot or so in height, growing vigorously from the simply 
planted cones — a recent enterprise, for the rescue of the 
island from its unshaded barenness, which promises well. 

But, while we are ploughing our way through this 
deep sand, let me be giving you an idea of the shrine to 
which it was a pilgrimage. 

Siasconset, (whither we were bound) is the only spot 
in the world where a certain Arcadian Idea — the Idea of 
utter social equality — has ever taken up its definite abode. 
The sober Quaker historian, Obed Macy, says of it : " At 
Siasconset, all are on a level, or rather on an equal eleva- 
tion. Useless forms and ceremonies are laid aside, and the 
little community, for the time being, indulge in a recipro- 
city and interchange of good feeling, which can be found 
in no place but in one situated precisely like Siasconset, 
and no other such place exists in the known world." In 
the preface to a humorous poem called " Laws of Siascon- 
set," we read : " A remarkable simplicity and plain deal- 
ing distinguish the moral character of the place, insomuch 
that it amounts to a political phenomenon. The laconism 
^Sconset Lo.ws has so much obtained, as a proverb, (denot- 
in'^ an entire freedom given to a friend, in all things 



248 The Convalescent. 

with decency), that it is frequently used at tea-tables in 
Europe." 

At the remote end of the remotest and most peculiar 
island of our country — a toilsome and unfenced wilderness 
separating it even from what metropolitauism there is the 
harbor town of Nantucket — on a far-out bluff, which is 
fairly the jumping-off place into the Atlantic, stands this 
famous villao'e of 'Sconset. Let me enumerate a few of its 
peculiarities of laws and manners, as commonly understood : 

1st. Fashion wholly excluded. 

2d. Introductions wholly unnecessary, all acquaintance 
mutualized on arrival. 

3d. The water of the pump being Lethean, every error, 
fault and misfortune of previous lives reciprocally forgotten. 

4th. Lawyers walk about, innocuous and professionally 
unemployed, as, for any and every misdemeanor, the 
" 'Sconset Court " consists of a friend for Jury, Reason 
for a Judge, and Conscience to plead both sides of the case. 

5th. No distinctions of religion whatever. 

6th. No flirts and no coxcombs. 

Vth. No scolding, by wife or husband, whatever the pro- 
vocation. 

8th. No manner of 'evil speaking. 

9th. Leap-year perpetual, and unmarried ladies at liberty 
to make such emotional advances as they feel naturally 
called upon to give way to. 



Queer Poem. 249 

10th. Entire equality of condition, position, and moral 
and pecuniary estimation, no man's betterness than an- 
other being in any way recognized. 

These principles are pretty much all laid down in the 
pamphlet poem called " Laws of 'Sconset," and I will give 
you the ring of its metal by a verse or two : 

" The song, the jest, the smile serene 
Amuse the friend that haunts it ; 
Here old simplicity is seen, 
In ancient dress, at 'Sconset. 

" When erring virtue asks excuse 
'Tis free good-nature grants it, 
And that which else would be abuse 
Is winked by laws of 'Sconset. 

" The court guards well our dearest rights, 
And when the country owns it. 
Lawyers wiU starve with all their wits 
And curse the Laws of 'Sconset. 

*' The wight in town who swells with pride 
Or like Clesippus vaunts it. 
The paltry coxcomb lays aside 
And wears the man^ at 'Sconset. 

" Here the fond maid shall find excuse 
If first she make the onset; 
Her soul's elect her hand may choose 
By Laws of Siasconset." 

etc., etc., etc. And this pithy ballad, of which these are 
a few scattered stanzas, is thus dedicated : *' To the True 
Republicans of Siasconset, and to all who wish well to the 

11* 



260 The Convalescent. 

cause of Simplicity and Plain-dealing in Society, one with 
another, as in the Golden Age of the Ancients, this 
humble tribute is respectfully inscribed, by Philo-Sirapli- 
citas." 

It was somewhere about noon when our long pilgrimage 
of sand drew to a close, and we began to see the chimneys 
of this famous village. On the two sides of a very broad 
street, as we drove in, were twenty or thirty neat little 
white cottages, no one more pretentious than another. The 
street opened apparently upon the Atlantic Ocean, the surf 
upon the beach closing its broad avenue at the end like a 
park-gate ; and, with the unfenced desert behind us and 
the ocean beyond, we fully realized the impression made 
upon the man's mind who described 'Sconset as " the most 
out-doors looking spot on the face of the earth." 

By inquiry at the comfortable low-roofed cottage that 
serves for an inn, we found it was still an hour to " chow- 
der-time ;" and as the bracing sea air made the noon sun 
comparatively powerless, I left my friend to see that his 
tired horse was tenderly cared for, and went down for a 
stroll upon the beach. It was exceedingly beautiful. The 
surf-chase of the calm and idle ocean was long and slow ; 
and, while my boy amused himself with following out 
the retreating wave, to write his name on the tempting 
tablet of sand and see the return-wave wash it utterly 
away, (life's sad story, told thus mockingly by the sea) ! 



Chowder-time and Entrance to the Inn. 251 

I gave myself quite up to the enchantuaents for eye aud 
ear. Seated beyond reach of the breaking wave, I was 
listening- with suspended thought to the monotone of the 
great anthem of the ocean when voices mingled with the 
music. A bevv of verv charmino; looking: women 
approached, accompanied by one gentleman, who ('Scon- 
set-wise) immediately gave me their names and his own 
(chancing to know mine from having previously fallen in 
with my companion), and we entered into conversation, 
commencing acquaintance of course, at once, " at the 
second volume." It was curiously agreeable not to find 
oneself a stranger in a strange place ! The sensation 
was new — something like finding it down hill to go up a 
a ladder. I shall never see a lovely woman again, I am 
quite sure, without a sigh for the privilege of 'Sconset ! 

Our clock of appetite brought us punctually to the vil- 
lao-e inn at "chowder-time" — thouo-h, bv the wav, I call it 
an "inn," simply for lack of a better word. It had no 
*' sign," no look whatever of a public-house. In fact, but 
for the forty or fifty nice-looking people lounging about 
the parlor, the porticoes and the entries, waiting for dinner, 
I should have scarce selected so private-looking a cottage 
for the house of entertainment of which I was in search. 
About the low-roofed and spacious white building with its 
green blinds, and, indeed, in the postures, groupings and 
countenances of the company, there was the genial and 



252 The Convalescent. 

simple air of a plain home and a family gathering — every 
individual present seeming to feel absolutely and uncon- 
sciously at ease. I made my way in, getting a frank look 
of greeting from one person and a passing remark from 
another ; and, somewhere near the kitchen door, I met the 
tall and strong landlady (the word landlady would hardly 
be true to the character of the soil), and in her frauk, vigor- 
ous, and sensible face, I saw the full type of the celebrated 
manly women of Nantucket. Mrs. Parker (and I was 
pleased to find that my own middle name designated so 
fine a specimen of humanity) gave me a most sea-captain 
shake of the hand and a cordial welcome to 'Sconset. 
The bell, just then, rung for dinner; and she made use of 
the pull she already had upon my hand to lead me to a 
spare seat at the table, making some kind remark as to 
being one of our Home Journal parish ; and, in further 
recognition of me as a stray editor, giving me and my 
hungry son, presently, the early plates of chowder for 
which we were so sea-sidedly ready. 

And I must take a separate paragraph to say that that 
same chowder was among the most delicious compounds of 
savory nutriment that had ever been thankfully spoonfuUed 
to my somewhat largely travelled lips. Among the things 
of which it is a pity to die in ignorance (I should say) 
is the effect of a 'Sconset chowder on the emotional 
nerve. 



Puppet-show of, Whale-ships. 253 

Mrs. Parker herself waited on table, with kindly words 
and most magical activity, and the conversation, among 
the fifty closely packed guests, was free and lively. I 
should say they were mostly strangers in Nantucket — from 
Boston, New Bedford, and the northern cities — and, 
though all of the class called " first " or " fashionable " at 
home, they were most effectively 'Sconset-ized by the 
atmosphere of the place. One very beautiful girl, with the 
hair, eyes, and complexion of Spain or Italy, looked, some- 
how, a little too stylish ; but it was so evidently because 
she could not help it, that she was generally forgiven. As 
there was Do wine on the table, dinner was soon over, and, 
with that pressing desire satisfied, for the time being, we 
betook ourselves promiscuously out-doors. 

And there were two 'Sconset sights to see, towards which 
the contented company now made, leisurely, a spontaneous 
lounge. In a small building, not far from the front door, a 
retired whaleman had constructed a miniature puppet-show 
of his craft — several completely rigged whale-ships in the 
various processes of capturing and cutting up their whales. 
These miniature vessels were afloat in reservoirs of water, 
and the boats and their men and monsters were all in place 
and apparently in action. It pictured the interesting 
drama of Nantucket life so efiectively that the spectator's 
idea of it must be afterwards perfect. I looked around for 
the ingenious constructor of so curious a show, and he was 



254 The Convalescent. 

pointed out to me, at work in the adjoining barn-yard, a 
sexagenarian and intelligent-looking sailor. No price was 
asked for our admission ; but one of the gentlemen present 
suggested that it was but reasonable to " pass round the hat," 
and he accordingly made a collection for the old tar, and left 
it with some of the " women-folks" in his cottao-e kitchen. 
The other show was a phalanx of sharks — nineteen of 
these unmitio-ated monsters Ivino- in a row, on the beach 
above the village. They had been caught in a shark-chase, 
by the 'Sconset fishermetf, a day or two before. To a 
"coof'like myself (all persons who have the misfortune 
not to have been born on Nantucket, are contemptuously 
called coofs by the happier islanders), a score of sharks, 
thus Iving on the sea beach — in their natural element, as it 
were, and yet harmless and approachable — was a great 
curiosity. They averaged about six or seven feet in length, 
and were of the bulk and proportions of Amodio, the basso 
at the Academy of Music — weighing, each of them, about 
four hundred pounds. Hideous, destructive and uneatable, 
these devils of the sea have still one redeeming point — the 
oil of their livers pays for catching and killing them. They 
are hooked and drawn to the surface of the water, to be 
knocked on the head with a club, then towed home and 
de-livered to the " old woman's kettle." I tried, in vain, 
while lookinor at their monstrous mouths, to see the shark- 
osophy of their creation. If made to swallow sinners (as 



Whittling Room. 255 

the Nantucket primer, I believe, tells warningly to the 
fishermen's naughlj children), it is proof that impenitent 
fat folks are equally made room for. A retired whale-cap- 
taiii, who happened to be one of our party, told us of catch- 
ing a female shark in the South Sea and hoisting her by a 
tackle to the side of his ship. She was then cut open, and 
forty-five little sharks wriggled from her into the water and 
swam away 1 It sounds like a "fish-story," but such, I was 
assured, is the easy fecundity of these mothers of devils, 
and such the precocity of their young — nature, apparently, 
omitting the infancy of Ljuch diabolical existences. 

We saw one other peculiarity of 'Sconset — a whittling 
room ; or the Nantucket substitute for billiards or bowling- 
alley. Along on the beach, at certain distances, are rows 
of huts, for the shelter of the islanders in rough weather, 
called " fishing-stages ;" and of the fishing-stage nearest to 
'Sconset, one apartment is devoted to the social .jack-knife. 
1 went in, with the two or three gentlemen who had ram- 
bled wdth me thus far ; but, chancing to have no pen-knife 
in my pocket, T could not try my own hand at the cutlery 
of conversation ; but I was told that to talk and whittle 
was unquestionably a duet of nature. The wooden frame- 
work of the little room, and the dozen wooden stools which 
vserved for seats, were carved with all manner of jack-nifiana 
— nothing wanting but a " medium" to re-conjure the long 
rainy days of talk of which these whittlings had been the 



256 The Convalescent 

accompaniments and the memoranda. Dexterity with the 
pocket-knife is part of a Nantucket education ; but I am 
inclined to think the projDensity is national. Americans 
must and will whittle, I know, at least, that the trees at 
Idlewild have a hard struggle with the admiring pen-knives 
of our summer visitors, and I am thinking now of building 
a pine shanty in the glen, with a sign over the door 
requesting strangers to do their whittling inside. 

But the blesseder the Paradise (T have always found) 
the shorter the visit ; and around came the inevitable 
4 P.M. and the pitiless pew-cart to bear us back again to 
the world. I was sorry to leave the place. I like its laws 
to live under. I was charmed with the spontaneity of 
acquaintance — delighted with the chat and the chowder. 
It may not be in our age that 'Sconset principles, desirable 
as their promulgation might be, will become any way 
general ; but, for the breathing-spell of the heart and soul 
that has become form-and-fashion-weary — for an interreg- 
num of suspicion of sin, and a calm of belief in mankind — 
try a week of this world-forgetting 'Sconset ! 

I have still a theme to discourse upon — the part of what 
I learned in this excursion, which interested me most, in 
fact — but my pen has already outrun its limits. In 
another letter, I may possibly get home from the Whale- 
man's Isle ; and, meantime. 

Yours (with a 'Sconset flavor to it). 



LETTER XXVI. 

A 'Sconset Acquaintance— A Talk with a Sea-Captain Forty Years after he 
was chewed up by a Whale — The Harpooning and the turn of the Angry 
Monster upon his Enemies — The Marks of his Four Teeth— The After-History 
of the Crushed Mouthful — Six days to Port — Arrival at Peru— The Emperor's 
Physician — The Back-Couutry Doctor — Captain Gardiner's Invention of a 
Tandem Hammock — Ride over the Mountains between two Mules — Recov- 
ery after Six AVeeks— Command resumed and Voyage prosecuted — Import- 
ant Considerations as to the American Whale Fishery, etc., etc. 

New Bedford, September. 
At 'Sconset, once more, if you please ; though, at the close 
of my last letter, we were taking our leave of that agree, 
able spot — for I find that I have written four long letters 
about the cradle of our country's sea-captains without illus- 
trating my subject by the mention of a single living speci- 
men. 

My most interesting acquaintance, at 'Sconset, was a 
Nantucket " skipper," who had once been chewed up by a 
whale — his surviving to tell the story, of course, being 
simply because the dainty leviathan, not liking the taste ol 
him, had dropped the willing mouthful out again upon the 
clean table-cloth of the ocean. This was forty years ago ; 
and it is a rare instance, you will allow, of a morsel's prov- 

25T 



258 The Convalescent. 

ing pleasant company so long after being rejected by a 
reluctant stomach at sea ! 

I should ask pardon, however, for speaking thus fami- 
liarly of one of the best specimens of manhood that I ever 
had the happiness to meet — a sea-captain now in his seventy- 
third year, as tall, straight, vigorous and cheerful, at this 
advanced age, as when " a mate " at twenty-five — one of 
the most respectable citizens of New Bedford at present, and 
enjoying a comfortable independence from the capture of 
the whale that wouldn't eat him and of other whales who 
similarly left him uuswallowed. But I must give you the 
particulars of the half-?nast[R(iSition of Captain Gardiner 
— who, by the way, m addition to his singular experience 
as a mouthful, has the peculiarity of being the son of the 
first white male child horn on Nantucket. 

Newly arrived at the honors of captaincy, our Nantucket 
skipper was cruising along the coast of South America — just 
off Peru — when there was a cry from the mast-head — " A 
whale ho !" The direction was given, the sails trimmed for 
the overtaking of the monster, and when within a mile, the 
boats were lowered, each with a crew of six, the cap- 
tain himself taking the harpoon of the advancing boat 
which was to make the assault. 

Quietly afloat lay the amphibious Shylock of the sea 
(the Zeyi-athan, I take it, is of the tribe of Levi), and, as 
the swift boat came within harpooning distance, the inevit- 



Marks of the Four Teeth. 259 

able iron, hurled by that strong arm, penetrated to his 
vitals. Not as usual, however, did the struck monster dive 
out of sight ; but turning and making straight for his ene- 
mies, he rolled over his huge bulk to get a fairer gripe, and 
brought his jaws together upon the boat's prow — the for- 
ward half of that slight structure, captain and all, disap- 
pearing like the best part of an apple-tart in the munch of 
a hungry school-boy. The remainder of the crew, the 
helmsman and four oarsmen, had jumped overboard; and, 
as the whale with another roll, dived down to die out of 
sight, he threw up the unswallowed captain — the relief- 
boat pulling instantly to the spot and taking the crushed 
morsel and the five swimmers safely from the water. 

It was the chewed-up right hand of the captain, as he 
sat by me at table, which at first excited my curiosity — 
(stimulating the inquiries which drew from him, at last, this 
thrilling story) — the stump, or what was visible below the 
coat-sleeve, looking like a twisted rope's end, but still re- 
taining clutch enough to carry the chowder-spoon to his 
mouth. Four of the whale's teeth were driven into him ; 
one entering his skull, a second breaking his collar-bone, a 
third breaking his arm, and the fourth crushing his hand 
— the remainder of his body being simply squeezed into a 
jelly. The healing of the wound in the head left a cavity 
like the inside of an egg-shell ; and though the hair has 
grown over it (hair still brown and thick, with the stub- 



260 The Convalescent. 

born vitality of the un-kill-able Nantucketer) it tells 
after forty years, the size of the tooth that did it. I laid 
the ends of my three fingers very comfortably in the 
hollow. 

But the after-history of this perilous adventure seems 
to me the most remarkable part of it. With a crew com- 
posed almost* entirely of well-grown boys, and the ship 
lying becalmed in mid-ocean — six days' sail from any port, 
even with a fair wind — how was this crushed and manorled 
sufierer to be doctored and cared for ? Captain Gardiner, 
providentially, though so nearly eaten up, retained full 
possession of his senses. His first mate was young, but a very 
smart lad, possessed, fortunately, of Yankee aptitude — good 
at everything; and, witli the aid of the sufferer's directions, 
he did the work of a surgeon. The captain ordered him 
first to make splints, and then to set his broken arm — the 
collar-bone being left to heal itself, unset (as it remains 
to this day, without perceptibly affecting his erect shape 
or the action of his chest), and the other wounds being ban- 
dao^ed in the usual wav. He was then laid on the cabin 
floor, and, with fans made of the leaves of the log-book, he 
was kept as cool as was any way possible — for it was the 
hottest of South-Sea weather. Feeling, however that his 
life depended on the exercise of his strong will, he gave 
orders that he should, by no possibility, be allowed to sleep 
over five minutes at a time. And, with this vigilant watch 



The Emperor's Physician. 261 

kept up for six days, the ship (navigated by his directions,' 
as he lay on the cabin-floor), entered the port of Peru. 

A boat, sent immediately on shore, brought off the empe- 
ror's physician, who, on looking at the prostrate man and 
examining his wounds, advised only that they should send 
for a confessor. Other prescription, the^ medical man 
thought, would be useless, as death was evidently so close 
at hand. But the captain was of a different opinion. " A 
physician for the soul is very well, at proper time and place,' 
said he ; " but, at present, I want one for the body — and I 
happen to know of one who will cure me !'' 

It so happened, that — in a previous touch at that same 
port — Captain Gardiner had heard of the sick mate of an 
American vessel who had been left behind by his shipmates, 
and to whom, as a charity to a suffering countryman, he 
then offered a passage home. The man's message of reply 
was, that he fortunately stood in no need of the kindness, 
as he was under the care of a Spanish doctor who lived 
at Pura (a village back in the mountains), and who had 
taken him to his house and treated him like his own child. 
And for this kind old doctor Captain Gardiner, now sent, 
with all convenient haste — dispensing at once, with any 
further attendance by the physician of the emperor. 

Early on the second morning arrived the " good Samar- 
itan,'' and there was comfort in his first look and encourage- 
ment in his first words. He could cure the crushed man if 



262 The Convalescent. 

"he only had him at his house in the mountains. But, how 
to get him there ? There was no road— only a mule path 
along the edges of precipices, climbing wild cliffs, and scram- 
bling through tangled ravines — forty miles of footpath, pene- 
trating the depths of a wilderness. 

But the captain's Yankee ingenuity seconded the good-will 
of the doctor. He constructed a new vehicle, as he lay 
(in the other physician's opinion) dying on the floor. A 
couple of long lithe spars were brought, by his orders, and 
a hammock was rigged to swing suspended from their 
centre. His friend had two mules, and, with the spars fast- 
ened to their sides, they were to walk, like the bearers of 
a palanquin, one before, the other behind him — a tandem 
hammock, in which he could ride, he was sure, quite as 
comfortably as men could carry him. 

And of the two days' journey which he thus made over 
the mountains. Captain Gardiner's description was one of 
glowing remembrance. By the elasticity of the spars 
which supported him, he was borne without jolting ; and, 
part of the time, he slept most refreshingly. But the path 
was a giddy one, to a sailor's eye — along the edges of cliffs 
where a single false step would have dashed him and his 
mules " into grease-spots," and now and then turning where 
his two spars formed a bridge from mule to mule, over a 
chasm — hundreds of feet of jagged rocks nearly perpen- 
dicular, stretching away below (he still thrillingly remem- 



Recovery after Six Weeks. 263 

bers), as he looked occasionally over the side of his mat- 
tress. 

They arrived safely at the mountain home of the old 
Spaniard, however ; and, here, all was comfort and kind 
care. They only differed on one point. The doctor 
thought the broken collar-bone should still be set ; but the 
captain resisted. He had felt the broken ends knit where 
they were, he said, and nature's mending would do for 
him. And he was right ; for, after forty years, he opened 
his shirt-bosom and showed me the ridgy projection of the 
broken bone, stronof and healthv and doinfy as o^ood service 
as a whole one, that very day at 'Sconset. 

It took six weeks of kind nursing to put him on his legs 
again ; and then, with a grateful farewell to the kind old 
doctor of Pura, Captain Gardiner returned to his ship — 
taking command, and once more pursuing the object of his 
voyage. And, soon harpooning the requisite number of 
unsuspecting whales (who, for lack of a newspaper, had 
not the slightest idea, probably, that it was the very same 
man whom one of their number had chewed up, boat and 
all, three months before !) he returned prosperously home. 
For an instance of indomitable energy, this can hardly 
be outdone, I should think ; and, to see the erect, noble- 
looking and hearty old man of seventy-three, as I saw him, 
an hour or two asro — walkinof home to his dinner, with a 
light step and a good appetite, in New Bedford, forty yeara 



264 The Convalescent. 

after being eaten up by a whale in the South-Sea — is to 
get a fine idea of the stuflf of a Nantucket whaleman ! 

I have given this narrative at full length, partly, of 
course, for its personal interest as an adventure of his own, 
chance told to rae, by a fellow visitor at 'Sconset (the 
captain himself), but more for its significancy as an ex- 
ponent of a vein in American character. Our most valu- 
able class of citizens, beyond all question, is our present 
complement of twenty thousand whale fishermen — our 
noblest national fleet, the six hundred and fifty-five whale- 
ships now afloat — our proudest American victory, the 
original Nantucket conquest of the whale. Yet it is not 
alone the ten millions and a half — (the value * which they 
annually create) — which makes these hardy sons of Nan- 
tucket of importance to their country. It is the nursery 
for seamen, which is thus kept active and in constant dis- 
cipline — a reserve guard, in fact, of our rights upon the sea 
amounting to at least a thousand of the ablest sea-captains 



* Mr. Grinnell, when Member of Congess, ten years ago, made a report to 
government as to the whale fishery ; and he now gives me a corrected sum- 
mary of this — with its present condition after the ten years of additional pro- 
gress, which I here subjoin : 

1857.— 655 vessels (ships, brigs, barques, and schooners), amounting to 
204,209 tons of tonnage, and manned with over 20,000 men and officers. 

Imports, in the year 1S56, of oil and whalebone and the value thereof, being 
the catch or produce of the whale fishery : — 2,549, 641 gallons of sperm oil, at 
$1 62i per gallon, the average price, $4,143,166 63 

6,233,535 gallons whale oil, at 79i^ cts 4,955,660 32 

2,592,700 lbs. whalebone, 5S cts 1,503,760 00 

$10,602,586 96 



Nantucket, the Nursery for Seamen. 265 

in the world, ready, at a call, to command ships and do 
battle for us. Looking at these thousand captains, and 
taking Captain Gardiner as a specimen of them (our 
actual Navy quite out of the question) what reasonable 
political economist would deny us the mastery of the sea ? 

I find, under my hand (accumulating as I have written, 
with the New Bedford library and well-informed friends 
within reach), a mass of facts as to the whale fisheries, 
for which it will take still another letter to find room. 
You will not think me too prolix, when you remember 
how scanty is the general knowledge as to this little island 
of Nantucket — the real key to ov.r respect among na- 
tions — and, venturing to say, upon the strength of this, 
that I shall once more return to the subject, I will here 

write my present adieu. 

Yours truly, 

N. R W. 



12 



LETTER XXVII . 

Visit to the Light-house of Sancoty's Head — View of a Curious Lake — Sugges- 
tion as to a new Revenue for Nantucket — Aquatic Cow-yard to Milk the 
Whale— History of the first Whale ever captured — The Spermaceti Aristo- 
crat of the Ocean — Process of Killing and Preparing— Poetry of Indian life 
on the Island— Recent Connection of Nantucket with the Mainland by Tele- 
graph, etc., etc 

Idlewild, October. 
To your national j)nde in !N'an tucket — the little island 
that is the jewel-casket of our country's Ocean-value — 
I address myself once more. Come with me to our Cradle 
of Sea-captains. 

On leaving that very curious Utopia which I described 
in my last — ('Sconset) — Mr. Grinnell turned his pony's 
head a little to the north of our course ; and with a half 
hour's driving through the unfenced sand, we came to one 
of the model light-houses of the coast, " Sancoty's Head." 
On this far out bluff of the Atlantic shore, stands a struc- 
ture, which for scientific contrivance and mechanical com- 
pleteness, is worthy to be named the Pharos of Alexan- 
diia ; and my companion, in his Congressional life, having 
been the champion of this class of public improvements, 

we were cordially welcomed by the intelligent old sea-cap- 
see 



View of a Curious Lake, 267 

tain who now trims the lamp for his brother sailors. With 
the mysteries of lenses and burners, catoptrics and dioptrics, 
I will not trouble your unwilling brain — but you will be 
interested to know how far this light can be seen ; and the 
old skipper said that sailors had repeatedly assured him of 
their seeing it at forty-five miles distance — (the Alexandrian 
Pharos being recorded as visible at forty-two.) 

From the summit of this tali beacon we got a fine view 
of the Sesacacha Lake — a shoe-shaped pond, that is a curi- 
ous type of alternation between private and public life — 
being so slightly separated from the ocean, that in tem- 
pestuous weather, the sand-bar is broken over by the surf, 
and the fresh-water lake becomes a stormy and salt bay of 
the Atlantic, How truly a public man's country home is 
a Sesacacha! 

But you will pardon my farmer's eye for seeing a rural 
capahility in this singular pond ; and one which in these 
days of scarcity of milk (particularily since the frail Lola's 
revelation of milk-baths as a preservative of beauty), 
might be turned to profitable account. Let me preface my 
suggestion by a passage from Macy's history of the 
whale : 

" The different species of whale nurse their young as 
cows do their calves. The age at which the young are 
weaned is probably twelve months. When attacked by a 
Bchool of killers (a species of whale not larger than a sperm- 



268 The Convalescent. 

whale two months old), they stop entirely, and lay like 
logs on the water ; then the calves collect between the cows 
and run their heads as far out of the water as they can. 
When whales are frightened, they go as fast as their calves 
can swim and no faster. Cows and calves associate very 
freely together." 

Now, this Sesacacha pond — a mile or two square, and 
with only a sand-bar, like a shut gate, to divide it from the 
sea — what is it but a most natural and manifest aquatic cow- 
yard, made on purpose for the Nantucket dairyman to milk 
his whale ? As to any very great difficulty in driving 
home a herd of the " cows " whose habits of gregarious 
maternity are described above, a Yankee skipper would 
smile at the idea. And — once get them there, with their 
spacious dugs full of milk worth (say) twelve cents and a 
half a quart — who would imagine, for a moment, that the 
Nantucket women would not find a way to milk them ! Or 
to enlarge the speculation, 'Sconset and Sesacacha might be- 
come Beauty-Baths — the whales milked into the pond, and 
the summer visitors taking their embellishing immersions on 
the spot — a local attraction that would add handsomely to 
the home revenues of Nantucket. (The annuity, expected 
from the island for this suggestion, might be moderate for 
the first year or two.) 

But — ^joking aside — how much do you know of the his- 
tory and habits of whales and whalers ? Did you ever 
hear of the first capturing of the great Leviathan — the 



History of the First Whale ever Captured. 269 

present sea-slave of the Yankee ? Considering the impor- 
tance of the animal as a national commodity, it will, at least, 
add usefully to general information (and your information, 
my dear General, is not likely to be better than mine was 
on the subject before going to Nantucket) if I give an out- 
line of whale-catching — its rise and progress. 

The first thought of capturing the great fish, who had 
hitherto been seen only at what was considered a safe dis- 
tance, was at the coming of one of them — of the kind called 
the "scragg" — into Nantucket harbor. The island was 
but recently inhabited by white men ; and, their curiosity 
being excited by the apparition of this new " native," they 
set about contriving how they should induce the floundering 
aboriginal to prolong his visit. The first harpoon was then 
invented, and, armed with this weapon, they went out in 
their boats, and assaulted and killed the whale. The va- 
rious kinds of the animal beinof then numerous alono- the 
shore, the successful harpooners turned their attention to 
the killing of them, as a regular business. The govern- 
ment of the island gave it every encouragement, making 
presents of land to skilful men who would come and engage 
in it, and sending for information as to the best method of 
extracting the oil, etc., etc. 

" It is remarkable (says Macy), that, notwithstanding 
the people had to learn the business of whaling, and carry 
it on under many hazardous circumstances, yet not a single 



270 The Convalescent. 

white person was killed or drowned in the pursuit, in the 
course of seventy years." "The Indians, ever manifesting 
a disposition for fishing of every kind, readily joined with 
the whites in this new pursuit, and willingly submitted to 
any station assigned them. By their assistance, the whites 
were enabled to fit out and man a far greater number of 
boats than they could have done of themselves. Nearly 
every boat was manned, in part — many almost entirely — by 
natives : some of the most active of them were made 
steersmen, and some were allowed even to head the boats : 
thus encouraged they soon became experienced whalemen 
and capable of conducting any part of the business.'* 
" Whales being plenty near the shores, people were led to 
conclude that they should find them still more numerous 
were they to pursue them with vessels into the deep. Tn 
the year 1690,* some persons were on a high hill, observ- 

* One of the public experiences of the island, about this time, records rather 
a curious fact as to what is considered the highest crime by the Indians : 

" King Philip, Sachem of Mount Hope, in the year 1665, very soon after the 
settlement of the island by the whites, came there with a number of canoes in 
pursuit of an Indian to punish him for some heinous crime. There being but 
a small number of Englisli at that time, they had everything to fear. Philip's 
hostile appearance and preparations made them apprehensive that he would 
destroy them, if any measures were taken to arrest his progress in pursuit of 
the delinquent. On the other hand, if they assisted to search after him, they 
dreaded the revenge of the island natives. They therefore declined lending 
their aid in any respect. Philip then went with his party in pursuit of the 
criminal, and at length found him on the southeast part of the island. His 
name wa? John Gibbs ; Ids crime rcas the, mentioiiing of the name of FhiUp^s 
father. Eehearsing the name of the dead, if it should lie that of a distin- 
gui-sfied person, was decreed by the natives a very high crime, for which 
nothing but the life of the culprit could atone, Philip, having now "the poor 
criminal in possession, made preparations to execute vengeance upon him, Avhen 
the English spectators commiserated his condition, and made offers of money 
to ransom his life. Philip listened to these offers and mentioned a sum which 
would satisfy him : but so much could not be collected. He was informed of 
this, but refused to lessen his demand. The whites, however, collected all they 



The Spermaceti Aristocrat of the Ocean, 2tl 

ing the whales spouting and sporting with each other, when 
one observed (pointing to the sea), "there is a pasture 
where our children's grandchildren will go for bread." 
But of the era of first taking the most valuable kind of 
whale^ Macy thus gives an account : 

" The first spermaceti wkale taken by the Nantucket 
whalers was killed by Christopher Hussey. He was 
cruising near the shore for right whales, and was blown off 
some distance from the land by a strong northerly wind, 
where he fell in with a school of that species of whales, 
and killed one and brought it home. At what date this 
adventure took place is not fully ascertained, but it is sup- 
posed to be not far from 1712. This event gave new life 
to the business, for they immediately began with vessels of 
about thirty tons to whale out in the 'deep,' as it was then 
called, to distinguish it from shore whaling. They fitted 
out for cruises of about six weeks, carried a few hogsheads, 
enough probably to contain the blubber of one whale, 
with which, after obtaining it, they returned home. The 
owners then took charge of the blubber, and tried out the 
oil, and immediately sent the vessel out again. 

" As the whalino; business was found to answer their 



could in the short time allowed them, in hopes that he would be satisfied, when 
assured that more could not be found ; but instead of this, he persisted in his 
demand with threatening language, pronounced with an emphasis which fore- 
boded no good. This very much provoked the English, so that they concluded 
among themselves to make no further offers, but try to frighten him away 
without giving him any more money. The sum raised, which was all that the 
inhabitants possessed, was eleven pounds ; this had already been paid to him, 
and could not be required back again. Philip had surrounded and taken pos- 
session of one or two houses, to the gi-eat terror of the inmates ; in this di- 
lemma, they concluded to put all to risk ; they told him that if he did not imme- 
diately leave the island they would rally the inhabitants, and fall upon him and 
cut him off to a man. Not knowing their defenceless condition, he happily 
took the alarm, and left the island as soon as possible. The prisoner was 
then set at liberty." 



272 The Convalescent. 

expectations, they were encouraged to increase the number 
and size of their vessels. Sloops and schooners, of from 
forty to fifty tons, were put into the business. Vessels of 
this size being supposed to be best adapted to whaling, 
near the coast, no larger ones were employed for many 
years. At length, whales began to be scarce near the shore, 
and some enterprising persons procured larger vessels and 
sent them out to the southward, as it was called, where 
they cruised until about the first of the seventh month, 
when thev came in and refitted, and went to the eastward of 
the Grand Bank, where they continued through the whaling 
season, unless they completed their lading sooner, which 
frequently happened. The vessels that went on these 
voyages were generally sloops, of sixty or seventy tons ; 
their crews were made up in part of Indians, there being 
usually from four to eight in each vessel. 

"At the close of the whaling season, the vessels were 
mostly drawn on shore for the winter, being considered 
safer and less expensive in that situation, than at the wharves. 
The boats were placed on the beach, bottom upward, and 
tied together, to prevent disasters in gales of wind ; and all 
the whaling gear v/as put into the warehouses." 
f 

The whale is a great traveller, and instances have been 

known of the striking of a whale in the Atlantic, and after- 
wards taking hira in the Pacific — the head of the harpoon 
found buried in the carcass, being marked with the name 
of the ship which first fell in with him. The sagacity of 
the sperm whale, more particularly the Leviathan aristo- 
crat, is very remarkable — the instantaneous knowledge 
they have, of one of their number being killed or wounded 



Process of Killing the Whale. 213 

even at a distance of three or four miles, beino- like the 
electric telegraph. "When a whale is struck, those around 
who were feeding or floating undisturbed, with one accord 
make their way to the wounded whale ; or occasionally 
they collect in a body and go off in the contrary direction 
with the greatest speed. 

And now, let us come to our Nantucket historian once 
more, for an account of the process of whale-taking: 

"As soon as a whale is discovered by the men at mast- 
head, the first inquiry from deck is, ' In what direction V 
That answered, the sails are trimmed according to dis- 
tance, and the ship made to head as directly for the 
object as possible. It is not desirable to approach the 
whale nearer than within about one mile. When at about 
that distance, the ship is stopped, and the boats are lowered 
into the water. If the whale is down, each boat takes the 
station where the officer commanding her believes the 
whale will come up, A large sperm whale remains under 
water from fortv-five minutes to an hour and fifteen mi- 
nutes.* Their usual rate of going, when undisturbed, is 
about two and a half miles an hour. Beinof satisfied 
which way the M'hale was headed, when it went down, 
each one exercises his judgment as to where he thinks it 
will come up. There they anxiously wait ; when it does 
appear, the nearest boat pulls on (the other boats take a 
position near by), and strikes as soon as possible, which is 
done by the officer in the head of the boat, who daits two 

* My 'Sconset friend, Captain Gardiner, told me that, by his experience, a 
whale would yield just as many barrels of oil as he would stay minutes 
under water. 

12* 



2^4 The Convalescent, 

harpoons into the whale. These harpoons, or, as we term 
them, whale irons, are attached to aline of two hundred and 
eio-hty or three hundred fathoms, coiled in a tub, 

'' The effect produced by the harpoon is various. Some- 
tiiues it penetrates a vital part, and kills the whale in a 
lew minutes. This, however, is not often the case. The 
irons are not so much intended to kill the whale as to 
fasten to her. A more proper instrument, called a lance, is 
used to dispatch the whale ; its head is much like the 
centre-piece in an eel-spear, the shank is about three feet 
long-, with a socket, in which is fixed a pole of about eight 
feet. It is easily darted six or eight fathoms. It has a 
line or warp attached to it, by which it can be drawn back 
after being thrown. But it is better not to use the warp, 
but to go to the whale's side, and with your hand set the 
lance to the whale's life, and the work is done. Some- 
times, immediately after the whale is struck, it stops, being 
severely hurt, and rolls, threshes, and tumbles about at a 
ffreat rate, makinof the water flv in all directions. It is 
best to keep close to the suds, but not quite in it, and 
when she straightens out on the water, after her paroxysm, 
it is a good time to pull up, and throw in a lance. Some- 
times, on being struck, they descend with great rapidity, 
taking three, or four, or even five hundred fathoms of line. 
If another boat is near by, and the line is likely to be run 
from the first boat, it is knotted to a second, and some- 
times to a third, making in all eight hundred fathoms in 
one continued string. We do not think that whales descend 
to that depth ; considerable line is taken out when they 
are coming up. 

"When the whale is dead, it is taken to the ship, which 
keeps at a proper distance during the action. The work of 
taking off the blubber — that part from which the oil is 



Process of Preparing the Whale. 275 

extracted — then commences. This is done by putting 
heavy tackles at the mainmast head. An aperture near 
the tin is made in the bhibber, sufficiently large to 
admit a strong hook, which is attached to the winding 
tackles before mentioned, and the purchase is brought to a 
windlass. This is what is called raising a piece. After 
cutting what is necessary upon the head, as the men heave, 
the blubber is peeled or separated from the body or carcass 
by a sharp instrument made for the purpose, called a 
spade. When the blanket-piece, as it is (railed, is hove 
up to the mast head, another hole is made, and the strap 
of the other tackle is put through, toggled and hove tight, 
and the piece above cut off, and lowered into the ship's 
hold between decks. The second tackle, now having its 
piece, is hove till that is at mast-head, and is relieved. 
Thus the whale is kept rojling until it is rolled out of its 
jacket, just as a person would haul a piece of tape from a 
cane, if it were wound around it spirally from end to end. 
After the whale is once turned round, the head is sepa- 
rated from the body, and taken on board according to 
convenience : it generally produces about one-third of the 
oil taken from the whale, which is much more valuable 
than that taken from the blubber of the body as most of 
the spermaceti used in making candles comes from it, 

" Sperm whales vary much in size. The cows and calves 
are generally found in shoals. Ten, twenty, and sometimes 
hundreds, constitute a school ; and, when discovered, some 
of them are constantly on the surface of the water, spout- 
ino-, jumping, plaving, etc. The cows make from eight to 
forty barrels of oil. The male a:rows much laro-er: and 
what is termed a large whale will yield from sixty to a 
hundred barrels. It is thought, by some, that the males, or 
at least the most of them, about the third year of their age, 



276 The Convalescent, 

leave the cows and calves, and gang togetlier : and it i% 
not uncommon to see a school of forty barrel whales, and 
so on to sixties. Sometimes single whales are seen of a 
large size. To what depth a sperm whale descends in 
search of food (which is always squid), no person, what- 
ever his experience may have been, can tell. One thing is 
certain — that the larger the whale, the longer it stops 
under water. 

" After the blubber is hoisted on board, the ship's com- 
pany immediately proceed to boil it out, while it is sweet. 
Before sailing, there is built on deck a solid, substantial 
brick-work, called a camboose, with a water course beneath 
it, in which are set two, and sometimes three pots, holding 
from one hundred and forty to two hundred gallons each, 
for the purpose of trying out the oil. The blubber, now 
in the ship's hold, called blanket-pieces, is cut into smaller 
parts, about five inches wide, and from twelve to eighteen 
long, called horse-pieces, from a plank bearing that name. 
It is then minced by a tool shaped something like a 
scythe, with a handle on each end, and is now prepared for 
the pot. After the oil is tried from the blubber, it is put 
into a large copper cooler, and thence into casks. When 
the oil is as cool as the climate will make it, the casks, 
having shrunk considerably, are coopered again, and put 
away in the hold, not to be moved again, unless they 
should leak, until the termination of the voyage. 

" A stranorer to the business may ask, what these mon- 
sters of the deep live upon, to grow to such an enormous 
size ? Their principal food is an animal of the fish kind^ 
not bigger than a sptider, which it resembles somewhat in 
shape : the color is of a reddish cast. It is called bret, 
and is frequently seen on the surface of the water in such 
quantities as to make a reddish appearance of several acres. 



Description of the Whale. 271 

« These the whales take into their mouths in large quan- 
tities, and the slabs of bone serve as strainers to discharge 
the water and retain the food. 

"The eyes being prominent, the whale is enabled to pur- 
sue his prey in a direct line, and by inclining his head a 
little to the right or left, he can see his enemy astern. 
There is one row of teeth in the lower jaw, and sockets 
in the upper, to receive them. The number of teeth de- 
pends on the age of the animal. When the sperm whale 
spouts, he throws the water forward and not upward, like 
other whales, except when he is enraged. . , . „ . 

" The tail is horizontal ; with it he does much mischiet m 
defending himself. The ambergris is generally discovered 
by probing the intestines with a long pole, when the fish is 

cut in two. ^' f 

"There is a marked difference in the spoutmgs ot 
different species of whales. A sperm whale has but one 
spout hole, and throws the spout forward at an elevation o 
about forty-five degrees. It is much thicker, and does not 
^0 as hio'h as that of most other whales. A right-whale 
has two spout holes about eighteen feet from the nose, and 
consequently much nearer the lungs ; the spout is thrown 
nearly perpendicularly, widening as it rises. The finback 
has two spout holes ; yet the spout often rises in one jet so 
as to cause it to be sometimes mistaken for the spout of a 
spermaceti ; and the same may be observed of the hump- 
back. Some whales appear more vicious than others, it 
rarely occurs that they show a disposition to act on the 
defensive. No rules can be given for the manage^nent of a 
whale which shows a disposition to attack a boat. AH 
must be left to the judgment and courage of the officer. 

So much for the poetry of industry and energy that fairly 



278 The Convalescent. 

impregnates the atmosphere of this little island. But 
there is also a poetry of Indian life, for which Nantu-cket 
will one day be curiously visited ; and, of the " warp and 
woof" of this side of its history, we find a specimen in a 
Report made some time ago to the Historical Society. 
Thus quaintly wrote Zaccheus Macy, (an ancestor of Obed 
Macy, already quoted), of the Indians of Nantucket : 

'' Waunohmanock was the first Sachem, when the Eng- 
lish first came Next came the old Sachem 

called Wauwinet. And the said Wauwinet had two sons, 
the oldest son was named Isaac, but was mostly called 
Nicornoose, which signifies, in English, to suck the fore 
teat; and his second son was named Wawpordonggo, which 
in English is white face, for his face was one side white, 
and the other side brown or Indian color. And the said 
Nicornoose married, and had one son named Isaac, and 
one daughter ; and then he turned away his proper wife, 
and took another woman, and had two sons, named Wat 
and Paul Noose ; and when his true son Isaac grew up to 
be a man, he resented his father's behavior so much that 
he went off" and left them for the space of near fifty years, 
it was not known where. And in that time his true sister 
married to one Daniel Spotsor, and he reigned sachem, by his 
wife, near at)Out forty years; and we made large purchases 
of the said Spotsors. And then about sixty years past or 
more, there (;ame an Indian man from Nauset, called 
Great Jethro, and he brought Judah Paddack and one 
Hause with him, and he challenged the sachem-right by 
being son to the said true son of Nicornoose ; and when 
they first opened the matter to our old proprietors, they 



Poetry of Indian Life on the Island. 2T9 

contrived to keep the said Jethro close, until they could 
send some good committee to find out by our old Indians, 
whether they ever knew or heard of the said Nicornoose 
having such a son gone, and they soon found out by the 
old Indians that he had, but they had not heard what was 
become of him. So they soon found they should lose all 
they had bought of the said Spotsor, then thev held a 
parley with him said Jethro, and agreed to buy all his 
right, title and property that he owned on said island, as 
appears on our records. And the said Nicornoose gave 
deeds to his two bastard sons, Paul and Wat Noose, forty 
acres each, a little to the eastward of Podpis village. 

" The first sachem at the southwest part of the said 
Island. His bounds were at the said Weweder Ponds, 
and his name was Autapeeot. Next to him was his son 
called Harry Poritain. Next to him was Peter Mausauquit. 
Next to him was Isaac Peter. Next to him was lame Isaac? 
of whom we bought the last and all that sachem-right : and 
their habitation was Moyaucomet, which signifies a meet- 
ing-place, and their meeting-house they call Moyaucomor. 
And the said Autapeeot was called a great warrior, and 
got his land by his bow. ... I have been at their 
meetings many times and seen their devotion; and it was 
remarkably solid ; and I could understand the most of 
what was said ; and they always placed us in a suitable 
seat to sit ; and they were not put by, by our coming in, 
but rather appeared glad to see us come in. And a min- 
ister is called cooutaumuchary. And when the meeting 
was done, they would take their tinder-box and strike fire 
and light their pipes, and, may be, would draw three or 
four whiffs and swallow the smoke, and then blow it out of 
their noses, and so hand their pipes to their next neighbor. 
And one pipe of tobacco would serve ten or a dozen of 



280 The Convalescent. 

them. And tliey would say ' tawpoot,' which is, 'I thank ye.' 
It seemed to be done in a w-ay of kindness to each other. 

" The most noted Indians in Autapscot's bounds were 
Benjamin Tashama, a minister of the Gospel, and a school- 
master to teach the children to read and write. He was 
grandson to the old sachem, But there was an old Indian, 
named Zacchary Hoite, a minister before this said Tashama, 
but he did not behave so well. He told his hearers they 
must do as he said, but not as he did. 

What material for the novelist, the poet and the politi- 
cal economist, is accumulated in the history of this little 
island ! And what an advance upon the island-news of a 
single day, when first settled, is the paragraph in the news- 
paper of this very morning, announcing that " the Telegraph 
cable " — by which intelligence will pass, in a second, be- 
tween Nantucket and the mainland — "was successfully laid." 
AVhat would " Waunochmanock the first Sachem " have 
said, had a prophet foretold, that, in two hundred years, 
such a miracle would be in daily use by the white man ? 

But the bottom of my page reminds me that I am again 
outrunning epistolary limits; and I must close — leaving- 
however, very many most interesting points of Nantucket 
history untouched upon. It is stuff for a most valuable 
book, in fact ; and for him who has time and taste to write 
it, I can conceive no pleasanter befiilling than a summer so- 
journ at 'Sconset, with pen, ink, and gossip, or idleness at 
will. I sigh, myself, to say adieu to it, here ! 

Yours, at Idlewild again. 



LETTER XXVIII. 

To Invalid Morris— Morning at Brady's — His Reason for moving further up 
Broadway — Photograph of Dana and its uses— Bancroft, Dr. Potts, Russell 
Lowell, etc — Likeness of Lord Napier — Description of "Imperial Photo- 
graph " — Comments on Photography and Portrait Painting — A true Likeness 
and its Injustice — Suggestion of an Inquiry for Artistic Philosophy, etc. etc. 
etc. 

Idlewild, March. 

Your very upright body, like your very downright word, 
is so habitually valid^ that, to look upon you as an in-valid 
has a certain relish of variety. On your weary road of 
recuperation, with diet and the doctors, you are, for the 
present, at least, among those to whom a letter of wile- 
time may be tenderly addressed — a word of sympathy or 
so, to make you forget the grim pill of your pilgrimage. 
Fortunately, on the mantel-piece before me stands a pale 
face — your photographic portrait, in which the color, more 
or less, is left to the imagination — and, to amuse that re- 
duced and U2>hrady''d Morris, therefore, shall be the sym- 
pathizing aim of this present " Letter for Invalids." 

And, speaking of Brady and his photographs, it may amuse 
you if I describe my chance morning among his novelties 
when last in town. My walk down Broadway was in search 
of things less written of already, but I was cauo;ht. as other 

281 



282 The Convalescent. 

birds are, in going by — and let rae tell you how "the salt 
was put on." 

Everybody, as you know, walks very slowly for a few steps 
after passing Williams-and-Stevens' — the mental struggle 
as to whether one is rich enouo-h to p'o back and buv the new 
engraving in their seductive window, diminishing the walk- 
ing-pace of the passers-by (I have generally observed) to 
about one-half of its previous speed. Of this peculiarity 
of that particular spot of sidewalk, Brady, with his philoso- 
phical tact, has wisely availed himself — removing from down- 
town, where the promenaders walk very fast (in sight of 
the halls of justice and the city clock), to this higher 
number of Broadway, where, as I have just stated, they 
come under a daily renewed fascination and, with slackened 
pace, look more leisurely around them. 

Loitering past Brady's door, therefore, with the strug- 
gling deliberateness of the rest of the crowd, my eye fell upon 
what seemed to rae a mezzotint likeness of Dana — a por- 
trait it seemed to me, most effectively artistic, while, at the 
same time, it had the lifelike verisimilitude of daguerreo- 
type. I was unprepared to see a photograph so large as 
this (it jjave the fisrure at two-thirds lenijth, and was of the 
size called "imperial" in engraving), and, to my eye, it 
was the utmost perfection of a likeness. Dana's face is a 
very strong and handsome one, as everybody knows ; but 
this, of course, was a secondary reason with sagacious 



Likeness of Lord Napier. 283 

Brady, for making him the bene--pu\\ at his door — that 
name as we all remember {vide " Dana-e," and " Dana- 
ides" in the Classical Dictionary) having great attraction 
for the " showers of gold," and marriageable young gentle- 
men. 

To make an inquiry as to this new stride in perfection of 
portraiture, T mounted to the sunshine-shop above, where, 
as I expected, our old friend Wandesford and my previous 
acquaintance, " the god of day," were busily at work — 
the latter making the pictures with his usual rapidity of 
literalness, and the better educated artist supplying after- 
wards the god's inappreciative and unflattering omissions. 
Quite a crowd of ladies, as usual, were in attendance ; and 
the especial object of interest, at the moment, v.'as a photo- 
graphic portrait of Lord Napier, just completed. The new 
English Minister had made a visit to Brady, on his way to 
Washington, and the likeness he thus left behind him 
represents very much " the right man for his work." It is 
of the tvpe which is found, as a class, only in England — 
imperturbably observing and intellectual, but so undemon- 
stratively well-bred as to be within a hair-line of bare 
plainness and common placeness — and, over and above what 
education and position have done for the face, there is in it 
a look of reliable worthiness and integrity, which it is 
comforting to know will be one of the " copy-books," at 
Washington, for a while. 



284 The Convalescext. 

Among other portraits in this same style there was a won- 
derfully successful one of Bancroft, the historian ; a very fine 
copy of the majestic frame and face of the eminent clergyman, 
Dr. Potts ; au excellent one of James Russell Lowell, and a 
faithful one of Bryant — though Lawrence's portrait of our 
great poet is better, inasmuch as that artist, who is daguer- 
reotypically true to nature, could still shade off the abrupt 
line with which Thanatopsis decapitates his beard. This is 
one of the few faces that would look quite as well if kept 
" severely beardless," but the expression is unfavorably 
fragmented by the covering of only two-thirds of the chin. 
On a temple of fame like your inspired lips, Mr. Bryant, 
the admiring eye looks for the natural eaves — unless the 
facial architecture be that of the " pyramid proper," and 
chin, mouth and nose, be left bare from pinnacle to base. 

For the improvement of mechanism, by which so much 
larger a UJcmess can now be taken, Mr, Brady, I believe, is 
to have the credit ; thouo-h I think the other secret of the 
matter — the knowing how sunbeam, pose and pencil, should 
be Brady'd together — shows more the perseverance of the 
man. He has employed thirty or forty artists to experi- 
ment upon this. The photograph, as you understand, is 
first taken by the machine, with artistic directions as to 
the choice of look and posture. A sitting of fifteen min- 
utes is then given to an accomplished crayonist, who thus 
makes his memoranda for &tij[>'pling the otherwise imperfect 



Comments on Photography and Portrait Painting. 285 

picture — supplying, with the pencil, that is to say, the life 
or expression left wanting by the photograph's soul-omitting 
fidelity to mere matter, and removing the mechanical 
blemishes, such as the deep black with which the photo- 
graph copies light eyebrows, and similar defects in shading, 
which are easily corrected. To do this judiciously — to add 
life to the dead photograph without altering its type and 
truth — requires, of course, practical skill and the best 
judgment. 

There are portraits, of course, which the photograph can 
never supersede — those in which the artist combines num- 
berless fleeting expressions into a single look, or a variety 
of graces of movement into single posture — but, for men, 
and particularly for those whose characters are to be read 
by a single glance at their outward form and feature (as 
all certainly are not), the photograph, with its recent 
improvements, is by far the best likeness taken. Even as a 
saving of labor for the artist — doing nineteen-twentieths 
of his work with infallible accuracy of proportion, and 
leaving, for his hand, only the last touch, which is always 
the main call upon his genius — it is an invaluble discovery. 
We thus speak of the best artists — but all artists are not 
"the best," and the photograph may well supersede the 
inferior ones altogether. Though, still, even good artists 
have not the courage of the photograph. Cromwell was 
obliged to insist that the wart upon his nose should be 



286 The Convalescent. 

painted, and there is many a departure from beauty, which 
a too flattering pencil will slight over, but which, at the 
same time, is indispensable even to an ideal of the face's 
character. 

All kinds of people are not equally fortunate, in being 
well taken by the daguerreotype, nor are all kinds of looks, 
beauty and expression, equally good subjects for the instru- 
ment. Some of us know better than others how to put on 
the best look ; some are handsome only when talking, 
some only when the features are in repose ; some have 
most character in the full face, some in the profile ; some 
do the writhings of life's agonies with their hearts and 
wear smooth faces, some do the same work with their 
mouths, and the muscles of the cheeks, eyes and nostrils, 
A portrait-painter usually takes all those matters into 
account, and, with his dozen or more long sittings, has time 
enouo-h to make a careful study of how the character is 
worked out in the physiognomy, and to paint accordingly. 
But in daguerreotyping, the sitter has to employ this know- 
ledge and exercise this judgment for himself. And he 
should give time to it, and take advice upon it. An artis- 
tic eye, either professional or of natural good taste, is within 
consulting reach of most people, and, with the aid of such 
a counsellor's familiar knowledge of the face, the best look, 
costume and posture, should be settled upon before coming 
to the instrument. Fortunately, the process is brief and 



A True Likeness and its Injustice. 28 T 

the cost small, so that a dozen experiments can be made 
in the time which an artist would take for a single sitting. 
It would be hard, if, in twelve different views of the face, 
the best look should not be tolerably approached. 

But I was not forgetful of yow, my dear invalid, while 
discoursing upon all these points with Brady's upper-chara- 
ber-lain, Evans (for the photographer himself was away), 
and yieldinof o-raduallv — as you know I did at last — to be 
led to that same fatal upper chamber. You had sent me 
your photograph, I remembered. It stood affectionately, 
with its breast in a cloud, on my mantel-piece at home. 
Well — yes — I would send you mine — in tender reciprocity 
of bust. 

And, they did me ! 

But I protest — now, and while I last, and trusting you 
will remember it in my obituary — against the misrepre- 
sentation of my natural temper in that ferocious photo- 
graph. What ! that cross-looking chap — that to pass for 
the likeness of a dweller among the cows, who could get 
the unanimous vote, this day, of the County of sweet milk 
in which he lives, as its most good-natured inhabitant. 
"Taken from life," it is true — but my habitual expres- 
sion of unwilling industry is made to look like bad temper ! 
And, let me linger a moment to explain how, in this (as 
probably in many another man's likeness) photography 
errs. While, to a stranger's eye, there stands the picture 



288 The Convalescent. 

of a man who is savagely saying " What's that to you ?" it 
is (with my consciousness of the look) simply a man say- 
ing to himself, "Let me look a little closer into this!" 
To compel the reluctant powers of attention (suflSciently to 
write for a living), has been the one hard effort of the life 
there chronicled. Concentration of mind upon a para- 
graph sounds easy ; but it requires (for me) an effort 
which crowds jaw and forehead together with the sensation 
of a pair of pincers — makes the eyes pucker, and the lips 
tighten and the nostrils strain excitedly open. Of course 
it is editorial attention, of which I speak so feelingly ; for, 
little do those know, who have the luxury of but one thing 
to think of — clergymen, men of business, lawyers, inventors 
and mathematicians — what it is, twenty times a day, to 
take off the undivided attention from one subject and put 
it as undividedly upon another. Most thinkers change 
horses, as it were — travelling with renewed freshness as 
they apply different powers of the mind to the different 
phases of their one vehicle of a subject — but, to an editor, 
it is a frequent change of vehicle, and forever the same old 
horse ! 

And now (to forget you, while I call mother nature to 
account, my dear Morris), is virtuous industry to be thus 
chronicled on the drudge's exemplary face as ill temper ? 
With the loss of youth, of freshness, of strength, of joyful- 
ness, it is easy to be content. Decay is not always forbid- 



An Inquiry for Artistic Philosophy. 289 

ding, and I have a butterfly willingness to be rid of the 
worm I am weary of — but there are those to whom I would 
(am look unforbidding while I am here, and (I could ask it 
tearfully, sometimes) — in proportion as I " work hard " am 
I to " look cross " to the child upon my knee ? 

It is a question which I wish our philosophically artistic 
brother editor of The Crayon would take under discus- 
sion — just how far idealized likenesses of authors are desir- 
able or proper. Here, on my library wall, for instance* 
hangs Richmond's portrait of Prescott — an exceedingly 
beautiful face, which it is delightful to look up and feast 
the eye upon, when under the spell of one of his historic 
anthems of description. But I have never seen Mr. Pres- 
cott ; and this probably idealized picture of what the real 
face tells of the mind beneath, may be about as like (judg- 
ing by other engraved portraits of originals I know), as an 
elegiac poem is like the undertaker's bill for the same 
event. But, would I prefer, in that case, a veracious 
daguerreotype of Prescott, to rest my eyes upon ? Cer- 
tainly not I would take some trouble, on the contrary, 
not to see such a daguerreotype at all. It takes an artist 
of very high genius, however, to give a characteristically 
idealized portraiture of a great mind. And why should 
not this constitute a higher and separate department of art 
— portraits of authors as seen in their books, but true only 
to the original native type of tl^eir actual features ? Such 

13 



290 The Convalescent. 

ftre our likenesses of Byron, Shelley, and Tennyson, I pre- 
sume. And there is many a balloon of portrait-fame 
gracefully afloat for immortality, which would be left 
behind if collapsed by daguerreotype into a bundle of 
raofs. 

And so, my dear invalid, I have sung you my ditty! 
You have gone to sleep while it was singing, perhaps, but 
at any rate, it is long enough, for this time. Strength and 
patience to you in your confinement at home ; and, that 
you may live to reach 107 (Fulton street^J is the earnest 

prayer of 

Yours always. 



LETTER XXIX. 

To Morris at Mobile — Out-door Luxury of Southern Climate—" Tiff's Ex- 
change " — Southern Noon-ing — New Orleans and its Chaotic Marvels — Shirt- 
sleeve Promenade — Recommendation to Transplant a New Orleans Fashion 
to Broadway — Invalid Advice — Caution as to Trifles, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, April. 
Where are you, this April noon ? Out of doors with 
the mocking-birds and the magnolias, I am very sure ; 
for, that is a luxury of the South which should be sung like 
Italy's " dolce far niente " — it has no imprisonment for the 
invalid! And, what a difference this makes! When I 
saw you in New York, the other day, your warm parlor 
was your world. To-day (at Mobile, most likely) you fee 
as if the warm world was your parlor ! Open air is your 
sick-chamber. Sunshine is your dressing-gown and blanket. 
You are at large on a planet — not pent up in a sick-room ! 
And this, I say, is much. Let them deny, if they please, 
the abstractly curative properties of southern air. It has a 
"charmed ring" — the horizon — whose spell of limitless 
luxury is a medicine to the mind. 

Suppose you at Mobile, then — tenth of April and twelve 
o'clock — nostrils expanded, pores unanim-open-ous, and 

291 



292 The Convalescent. 

lungs with DO possible objection. And now, after perhaps 
a drive out upon the " shell road," you have stepped into 
" Tiff's Exchange," to see the men and " take a cracker." 

I deliberately perpetrate the iniquity of expressing my 
most delightful memory of having enjoyed at Mobile what 
is commonly understood by the phrase just quoted ! Yes 
— at Mobile and at New Orleans. And so will you, my 
dear Morris ! But, will the " Maine Liquor Law," before it 
opens upon us, allow me to say one little explanatory word 
as to the southern Noon-ing that I speak of? 

The northern midnight (socially) answers to the south- 
ern noon. The daily meeting, that is to say, for the chat 
over the genial glass, is at the other " twelve." It sounds 
wrong, of course, to speak of resorting to a " bar-room " in 
the middle of the day. " A julep and a straw " — as I see 
them written in this virtuous ink — are fearful words ! But 
the bar-room, in that latitude, is not what it is in ours. 
Or, if drinking-places for rowdies are to be found at the 
South, there are others for gentlemen. To step in and 
" take a cracker," as you are asked to do, at the lunch- 
hour of noon, is to meet the most distinguished men of the 
place where you are — and to meet them with a freedom 
from previous inconvenience, present trouble or subsequent 
obligation, which is even Utopian in its advantages over a 
midnight and invited party. One of the finest collections 
of intrinsically superior men that I ever saw, was in that 



Southern Noon-ing. 293 

very bar-room of " Tiffs," at Mobile, the chance noon that 
I was there — judges, counsellors, planters, merchants, 
editors — all assembled, apparently according to habit, to 
have an hour's chat over the optional glass and cracker. 
The conversation was genial, quiet, high-bred, and at every- 
body's absolute ease 1 And, really, how could individual 
independence in society be better contrived ? Each man 
was intrusted with the safe-keeping of his own temperance 
— each man wore what he pleased — sat or stood as he 
pleased — came or went as he pleased — talked, or was silent, 
or read the papers, or smoked his cigar, as he pleased. 
Everybody was there with whom he was likely to have 
occasion or wish to speak particularly, and no one man was 
put under obligation by the trouble which any other man 
had taken in coming. There was no exclusiveness in those 
present except by self-selectiveness of group — no presence 
or absence except of a man's own choosing, or by the natu- 
ral crystallization of character and manners. What could 
be more admirably convenient ? — what more agreeable ? — 
what of a more elevated social tone, at the same time that 
it was economical and impartially equal ? I do not think 
we sufficiently admire the southern Noon-ing — built, though 
perhaps it partly is, upon southern qualities, their auto- 
responsibility, auto-protectableness, auto-dignity and auto- 
contentedness of position and estimation. But, if the 
" spirituous liquor " be the only objection, could we not get 



294 The Convalescent. 

it np at the North, over crackers and tea ? Suppose Wall 
street had its tea-pot for brokers — Williaras-and-Stevens, 
or Goupil & Co. their tea-pot for artists — Union Square 
its tea-pot for men of leisure — and the Astor its tea-pot 
for editors and lawyers. It is a little Turkish, of course, to 
thus leave out the ladies — but we will come to their tea- 
pots when they invite us. Besides, men require a social 
daily Exchange — a recess from work, and a gathering 
between twelve and one — or some time and place with 
facilities for courteous and incidental converse with such, 
male company as they choose. There is enough of the 
schoolboy left, in all of us, to need the " intermission." 

While I have been thus spinning my cobweb for the 
improvement of our favorite world, my dear Morris, your 
" noon-ing" at Tiff's is over, and you are calling on some of 
our family, (driven round, very likely, by the charming 
women we know of). I say " our family ;" for it is the hap- 
piness of addressing the level that we do — the homes of the 
refined and the cultivated — that our subscription list is a 
chronicle of friends. Wherever the Home Journal is wel- 
comed, we rejoice to have the privilege to follow. You 
are realizing this now, as, probably (with your unmigra- 
tory habits) you never did before. And there is a differ- 
ence in subscription-lists, in this respect. As a catalogue 
of homes — such homes as it is delightful for the traveller 
to be recognized and welcomed in — I am sure that the 



New Orleans and its Chaotic Marvels. 295 

subscription-list of the Home Journal is unequalled. Your 
name, as its editor, as you corae home through the South 
and West, will be a magnet to draw the best people to your 
side, to open the best houses to you, to set a chair for you 
at the pleasantest firesides and tables. Find one of our 
habitual readers, and you find a person of taste, home- 
culture and refinement, I believe it is everywhere under- 
stood. And of our many thousands, picked and reached 
constantly in every quarter of the country, there are likely to 
be always some near you and around you — a Home Jour- 
nalist everywhere, and charming to discover and claim a 
friend in. I write always, as you very well know, with 
this consciousness at the point of my pen. It is the key 
to a tone and style which were else, perhaps, sometimes, too 
personal and familiar. But, that it is felt reciprocally and 
equally at the outermost limits of our electric circle, the 
genial phrase or postscript in almost every letter that 
comes to us abundantly shows. Our Fifty-thousand Public 
is our cordial friend. 

* Hs * * * * 

Thus far had I written, two days ago ; and now, while I 
wind up my letter to you, dear Morris, you are perhaps 
luxuriating along to New Orleans — (I hope, with Captain 
Ensign and his splendid boat, which I so pleasantly re- 
member) — or, you are fairly at the mocking-bird city, eat- 
ing strawberries to strange accompaniments of sight and 



296 The Convalescent. 

sound, and wondering, in the very feco of previous cer- 
tainty on the subject, as to where you geographically are ! 
Languages, physiognomies, costumes, buildings, vehicles, in 
every possible variety — temple-domes of bar-rooms by the 
side of Parisian shops ; cafes over oyster-cellars ; one-story 
French houses and three-story Mississippi steamers — 
femmes a la mode and tow-clad negroes ; Creole dandies 
and Quadroon belles ; flower-girls and Sisters-of-Mercy ; 
well-dressed gentlemen promenading in their shirt-sleeves, 
and a mighty river flowing awfully above the level of the 
streets — I fancy you (with your 107-Ful ton-street eyes) 
walking abroad in such a metropolis of marvels ! 

But, pray bring home with you (and this warm day of 
April pictures it vividly to my memory) that New Orleans 
fashion of shirt-sleeve promenade I You will be expected 
to have altered a little with your travels, you knov>^ ; and, 
to walk Broadway with your coat off, the first hot day 
after you get back, will scarce be " going it too strong," in 
the way of a novelty, I think. For was there ever fashion 
more sensible and becoming ? The French gentlemen 
whom I saw in this cool array, the hot May noon that I 
was strolling to the levee, (and I was told that it was com- 
toon, among this class alone of the I^ew Orleans popula- 
tion) were otherwise in unexceptionable promenade dress 
— well-brushed black hats, straw-colored gloves, white 
pantaloons and black-satin cravats — but, to all this and 



Caution as to Trifles. 297 

their walking-sticks, the loose white linen of the bust and 
arms added a spaciousness and freedom which amounted to 
positive magnificence. Every artist will understand the 
effect of it. It £:ave an oriental abandon to our disfio-urino: 
angularity of street dress. They looked twice as handsome 
fellows, I venture to say, as they would have done in tight 
coats, and they were, at least, four times as comfortable. 
Try it while you are there, and lead off the fashion for 
us on your return ! Brady will photograph you — Morris in 
his summer solstice of shirt sleeves — and we will give it to 
our readers in a wood-cut. 

It is upon the strength of the better news of your health 
that I am writing to you so gaily, of course. The para- 
graphs in the Southern papers read cheeringly — not colorea 
at all with the low spirits in which you left us. To be out 
of harness was the main medicine that you wanted, and 
the delicious clime and its incidental surroundings will do 
the rest. But there is still a caution to be given to you — 
(one that every invalid of long experience has wished he 
had been earlier made to feel the importance of) — be care- 
ful about trifles ! The stomach's just-enough-and-not-too 
much, requires nerve, calculation and precaution. To in- 
sist upon sleep enough ; to prevent good-natured friends 
from fatiguing you ; to let nothing interfere with exercise 
enough ; to force nothing upon nature, but, with generous 
care, to give her all she clearly wants, of stimulus, variety, 

13* 



298 The Convalescent. 

amusement and relaxation ; to turn the overworked mind 
out to pasture, and look only on the bright side — all this 
is like a chemical experiment with multitudinous elements, 
which a single inattention to a trifle will wholly defeat. 
Habitually healthy, you will be apt, like most other un- 
practised invalids, while following the best general advice, 
to let some little trifle upset it all. Play the martinet 
with those loell-man carelessnesses, my dear Morris, and so 
drill yourself into speedy convalescence, and return to 

Yours alwavs. 



LETTER XXX. 

Pleasure of having a Friend at a Distance — Trip to Town and first Call for New- 
est Gossip— Bridal Reception, and re-beautiful-ness of a Retired Widow— 
Omnibus-Drive down Broadway — Petticoats doing Penance — New Fashion of 
Coat-Collars- Throats dressed differently— Beards— Boots— Hats— Dinner at 
Dietz's— Mrs. Hatch at the Tabernacle— Morris in Florida, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, April. 
It is a luxury to have j^ou so far off, that we who are 
left behind, are now seen in the "good light" of for- 
eign places and people. Distance (lovers seldom confess) 
lends enchantment to the view 1 When, before, would you 
have been interested in a description of the dear old New 
York that holds you so habitually in her every-day bosom ? 
News from us, now, will have a relish for you, like news 
from London or Paris. It is worth managing for — this 
perspective effect — got only by absence! Candles burn 
darkest nearest the wick, and oh the similar ^^;^V^-edness, 
sometimes, of those we live with ! Let me take advantage 
of this (our temporary looming up, and brightening in 
your far-away eyes), by gossiping to you of my yesterday's 
New York experiences — or rather of a trifle or two among 

the thousand things I saw and heard when I ran down to 

29a 



300 The Convalescent. 

read proof-sheets, and look a little to the office- matters that 
so miss you. 

From the steaming tea-pot of the railway I was poured 
as usual, into an omnibus-cup at Thirty-first street; and 
(needing sweetening, of course, before going down the 
dainty throat of Broadway), I stopped at charming Mrs. 

's up town, to abate my country flavor by a lump 

or two of undiluted news. With the bridal reception of 
the day before, I found that our fastidious friend's mind was 
mainly occupied. The bride was a daughter of one of 
those eccentric and dashing sisters, who, with infalliblo 
supremacy of taste and dress, aided by the finest of figures 
and the darkest of eyes, fairly " walked the course " of New 
York fashion for a decade of years gone by, defiant alike of 
control and competition. Oddly enough, the bride and her 
bridesmaids — a lovely constellation of young creatures, 
whose dresses were both faultlessly stylish and elegantly 
worn — were entirely eclipsed in interest by the toilette of 
the widowed aunt, whom we all remember as the absolute 
Empress of Saratoga a quarter of a century ago. In the 
dazzling crowd of up-town beauties she, yesterday, stood 
alone. The startling novelty, and, at the same time, abso- 
lute suitableness of her dress, was the general wonder. I 
cannot give you, -without risk of incorrectness, at second 
hand, a report of its materials ; but our friend describes it 
as a most bewitchingly becoming combination of bridal 



Omnibus-drive down Broadway. 301 

whiteness and of widow's weeds, such as had never before 
been conceived possible. With stately physique^ still of 
magnificent fullness and proportion, and with eyes as lam- 
ben tly Vesuvian as when the wild bloods of the South were 
her enthusiastically unanimous subjects, tall and beautiful, 
once more, stood the widow ! It was a renaissance, like a 
long-set star mounting backward to its place again ; and, 
for our land of ephemeral and speedily forgotten beauty, a 
refreshingly startling phenomenon. 

So discoursed to me, in reply to my question for up- 
town news, the lips that are my Oracle of Taste in 
town. 

On my way down town, I looked out of the west win- 
dow of the omnibus, as usual — happy indeed to see two 
miles of belles and beaux for so little money ! What a 
sixpence- worth from Union Square to the Battery I The 
sidewalks, of course, were religiously clean — even the to- 
bacco-juice wiped with pious penance from the pavement, 
by the sacred inside hem of the garments of lovely sin- 
ners (thus making public confession ?) It was the middle 
of the afternoon and Broadway was florescent, as daily at 
that hour. The dandies, I observed, wore vanishingly nar- 
row collars to their coats (the newest tailor-contrived 
novelty to compel them to get new ones), and (would you 
believe it ?) that time honored antiquity, a linen shirt-collar, 
has become unfashionable ; something in its place of which I 



302 The Convalescent. 

could not make out the texture, a sort of upright edge of 
dull white buckram or crinoline, now performs the shirt- 
collar's office (outer demonstration of the cleanliness be- 
neath). — worn, however, down low on the thoracic glands 
instead of high upon the jaw (probably so as not to come 
in contact with the oil upon the beard), and, by the lift and 
freedom thus given to the head, a fashion that chances to 
be artistic. Beards are worn with a prairie freedom of 
law or limit — every man, apparently, bent on knowing into 
what sort of a walking wilderness he would naturally run 
riot. Fashionable promenade boots are made with patches 
on the toes ! The sleeve holes of all manner of coats are 
now spaciously large — a ventilation of that hitherto tight- 
fitted angle of a gentleman, which will give general relief. 
Hats have become auto-biographic — the narrower the brim 
the younger a man proclaims himself to be. 

And that is all I observed of novelty in my passing look 
at the promenaders of Broadway. 

I was disappointed in the luxury I had allotted to myself 
for the evening. The promised opera was interrupted by 
the illness of the prima donna ; and so my three hours of 
eflfortless recipiency — that deliciously reversed process to 
the day's weary givings-out of thought, talk and action — 
were to be otherwise disposed of. I looked at the paper. 
It must be some place where I could sit silent and idle, 
with the doors of heart and brain simply ajar. And the 



Dinner at Dietz's. 303 

best thing I could see advertised was " Mrs. Hatch at the 
Tabernacle." 

First, with iny brother, to eat a German dinner at Dietz's 
six o'clock table, however, and refresh our memory of the 
land of myth and music over a bottle of Stein-wein. And 
here again, by the way, is a luxury for overworked powers 
of attention. Every meat, every vegetable, every sauce or 
salad, is handed in turn to every guest. Of the well carved 
dish you are the easy chooser of the part you prefer. 
There is is no studying of carte^ no telescoping of 
far-away desirables, no watching or compelling of 
willful waiters. Things come with Christian leisure and 
courteous certainty of procession. And the strange '■'■fad- 
erland " cooking ! Why, it is to the sameness-worn pal- 
ate what foreign travel is to drudgery of mind. Dietz is 
a master in his art, and luxurious foreigners fondly frequent 
his epicurean table. If necessary, one would encounter 
difficulties and dark corners to find what he offers. But, 
with his present sumptuous location in the "Prescott 
House " — princely architecture and costly elaborate- 
ness of splendor all around — the delicious dinner is indeed 
a dollar's-worth that speaks well for this life and its oppor- 
tunities. 

Mrs. Hatch was introduced to the audience a few min- 
utes after we took our seats in a pew of the Tabernacle— 
a delicate-featured blonde, of seventeen or eighteen, with 



304 The Convalescent 

flaxen ringlets falling over her shoulders, movements delib- 
erate and self-possessed, voice calm and deep, and eyes and 
fingers no way nervous. The subject being given to her 
by a gentleman in the crowd (" whether man is a part of 
God"), she commenced with a prayer — and very curious 
it was, to see a long-haired young woman standing alone 
in the pulpit, her face turned upward, her delicate bare 
arms raised in a clergyman's attitude of devotion, and a 
church-full of people listening attentively while she prayed ! 
A passage in the Bible occurred to me : 

[Let your women keep silence in the churches ; for it is not per- 
mitted unto them to speak. 

And if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands at 
home: for it is a shame for women to speak in 'the church.] — 
Corinthians xiv. 34, 35. 

But my instinctive feeling, I must own, made no objec- 
tion to the propriety of the performance. The tone and 
manner were of an absolute sincerity of devoutness which 
compelled respect ; and, before she closed, I was prepared 
to believe her an exception^-either that a male spirit was 
speaking through her lips, or that the relative position of 
the sexes is not the same as in the days of St. Paul. How 
was it with the Corinthians ? Women are certainly better 
than we, in these latter days, and, as standing far nearer to 
God, may properly speak for us, even in holy places — or 
BO it seemed to me while listenino^ to Mrs. Hatch. 



Mrs. Hatch at the Tabernacle. 305 

Upon the platform, in the rear of the pulpit, sat three 
reporters ; and the daily papers have given outlines of the 
argument between the fair "medium" and an antagonistic 
clergyman who w^as present. No report can give any fair 
idea of the " spirit presence," however — I mean, of the self- 
possessed dignity, clearness, promptness, and undeniable 
superiority of the female reasoner. Believe what you will 
of Mrs. Hatch's source of inspiration — whether she speaks 
her owm thoughts or those of other spirits — it is as nearly 
supernatural eloquence as the most hesitating faith could 
reasonably require. I am, perhaps, from long study and 
practice, as good a judge of fitness in the use of language 
as most men ; and, in a full hour of close attention, I could 
detect no word that could be altered for the better — none, 
indeed (and this surprised me still more), which was not 
used with strict fidelity to its derivative meaning. The 
practised scholarship which this last point usually requires, 
and the curiously unhesitating and confident fluency with 
which the beautiful language was delivered, was (critically) 
wonderful. It would have astonished me, in an extempore 
speech by the most accomplished orator in the world. 

The argument was long, and, on the clergyman's part, a 
warm and sarcastic one. The reverend gentleman (what 
is commonly described as a " smart man," with high 
health, a remarkably large and high forehead, and a law- 
yer's subtlety of logic), alternated speeches with the 



306 The Convalescent. 

" medium," for an hour and a half — leaving the audience, I 
thought, unanimously on the lady's side. But, what was 
very curious and amusing, was the difference of scope and 
dignity in the operation of the two minds. She looked at 
the subject through an open window, and he through a key- 
hole. She was severe, by the courage, skill and calm good 
temper with which she met his objections in the full face of 
their meaning only, disregarding their sneers; and he 
was severe, bv twistinjy her words into constructions not 
intended, and by feathering the sarcasms thereupon with 
religious commonplaces. Instead of the sonorous obscurity 
and rhapsody of which the spiritualists are commonly ac- 
cused, her argument was the directest and coolest possible 
specimen (my brother and I thought) of fair and clear 
reasoning. 

If you recollect our conversations on this subject, my 
experience in spiritualism has been always unsatisfactory. 
The "Fox girls" and others have tried their spells upon 
me in vain. It has seemed to me that I was one of those to 
whom was not "given " (as the Bible says) "the discerning 
of spirits." But it would be very bigoted and blind not to 
see and acknowledge the wonderful intellectual demonstra- 
tion made by Mrs. Hatch ; and how to explain it, with her 
age, habits and education, is the true point at issue. 1 
think we should at least look at it seriously — if only in 
obedience to the Scripture exhortation which closes the 



Morris in Florida. 301 

chapter on this very subject : — " Covet earnestly the best 
gifts." 

We do not hear from you, ray dear invalid — at least, 
not since the lightning mail told us of your departure for 
Florida. You are up to the knees in flov^ers, probably, 
and I (on this twenty-first of April) am up to the knees in 
snow ! The month of buds, blossoms, and violets is the 
year's volume turned back to mid-winter. Summer your- 
self enough for us both, dear Morris, and come back with 

June in your warm eyes, to 

Yours, cold or warm. 



LETTER XXXI. 

starting of the Summer Boat on the Hudson— Forbidding a Neighbor the Prem- 
ises—Caprices of Climate, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, May. 
While I have been nibbing my pen for this letter, the 
graceful Alida has glided across the squares of my window- 
pane — the first voyage down, of our daily steamer for 
the summer. Do you suppose you can imagine the event 
this is, in our Highland neighborhood ? The bell, ringing 
at this moment, with the first approach of the beautiful 
boat to our Cornwall landing, says a great number of plea- 
sant things to every ear that hears it. Broadway has very 
little idea of the charming tales told of it, by those silvery 
echoes ! Operas, pictures, toys, equipages — wondrous 
dresses with ladies in them, and wondrous beards with men 
walking behind — omnibuses in such blissful readiness and 
shops with such enchanting looks of welcome — new kinds 
of children beautifully dressed, strange fruits, dazzling 
flowers, wonderful dogs and all manner of foreigners and 
frights and funny faces — the world that New York is, and 
all brought suddenly within ferry-reach by the starting of 
the Alida ! Why, the taking down of the poor man's cot- 

008 



Spring. 309 

tage wall and letting it open into a palace — as the fairies 
do, in the old story-books — was but small magic to the 
Alida's opening the south side of the Highlands into New 
York. 

May is full of those wonders for one — exquisite beauties 
of the coyly awaking spring which you must not only be 
alone to see perfectly, but in which you can interest no 
second person by description. Nature's exclusiveness 
seems to be enforced by this compulsory silence. Her 
sweetest charms are forbidden to profaning literature and 
kept for eye-witnesses only. Our glen, just now, oflfers 
many of these tetes-d-tetes with nature — lovely temptations 
for solitary climb and ramble. And, by the way, the 
mocking-birds are in unusual abundance this spring;. and 
they, too — as they never sing twice alike — are singers for 
one or few. I drew bridle and listened for ten minutes to 
a song, yesterday, by a little brown troubadour on one of 
our trees, and it was wonderfully like an imitation of the 
same thing by Grisi, which I once heard at a merry supper 
of opera-singers in London. It takes the highest art to 
complete the circle and come round to nature — in most 
things. 

And, apropos of exclusiveness, I have been compelled, 
for the first time, to an exercise of this unpopular quality — 
driven, very unwillingly, to forbid my premises to a neigh- 
bor. In self-justification, I must record the circumstances, 



310 The Convalescent. 

I believe, for the act was a violation of my favorite princi- 
ple — social crystallization. Instinct and preference should 
be the only society fences around us. But Uncle Ben 
Smith was "borne with" a great while — as my simple 
story, I trust, will justificatorily show. 

The old man was a favorite of mine. He had been 
" smart," before epilepsy staggered his reason, and in all 
his talk, as we daily exchanged gossip on the road, there 
was a quaint habit of pitiless directness that was amusingly 
unpoetical and corrective. He had a daily tramp of two 
or three miles after " the cow," that picked up her living on 
the highway, and as I generally knew which way she had 
gone, getting sight of her in my roundabout ride through 
the green lanes, I was a sort of neighborly sign-post, saving 
him many a trudge. We always stopped to chat, and I 
seldom came home without one of Uncle Ben's facts 
" broken short oflf," to amuse the table with. The greater 
part of his day was employed in a sort of half conscious and 
habitual picking up of sticks along the roads and riverside, 
laying them into bundles till he could come with a string 
and carry home a load on his back. Finding him peeling 
the chestnut posts of one of my fences, one day, for the 
small profit of the bark, I asked him why he did not go up 
the brook, where the drift wood was plenty. 

" Glad enough, if the boss says so," said Uncle Ben, 
looking up inquiringly. 



Forbidding a Neighbor the Premises. 311 

So " the boss " gave him a welcome to free range 
through the meadows and all the brush and sticks he 
could pick up along the brook and in the woods — adding 
the promise that his loads should be taken home for him 
in a wagon. 

But the meadow, as I look down upon it, two hundred 
feet from my study window, is one of the household pic- 
tures ; and, in two or three days, I began to discover that 
its beautiful evergreens and shrubs were, somehow, getting 
to look very unsightly. In dread of a mysterious blight, 
such as nearly exterminated the sycamores a few years 
ago, I went down to take a closer look. The cypresses and 
hemlocks were full of dead wood ! By the way of drying 
his sticks, or indicating that they were appropriated, Uncle 
Ben had stuffed them in among the close foliage of these 
low-branched evergreens, and there was scarce one of those 
beautiful cones and pyramids that did not look rotten at 
the base. They were heaps of fire-wood with the green of 
the weighed-down branches scarce perceptible ! The old 
man's mind being quite gone except upon very habitual 
subjects, it was very hard to convince him that this was 
wrong ; but, though he forgot my scolding, and persisted 
in loading down the evergreens, I still left him the range 
of the premises. 

"With our three gates opening upon different directions 
of road, I had not chanced to go out through the meadow 



312 The Convalescent. 

for several days, when, as I wound down through the ravine, 
one afternoon, several glaring white spots caught my eye, 
new features altogether in the familiar landscape. As I 
got nearer the horror revealed itself. A half dozen old 
stumps which had been scarce observable on the other side 
of the brook — unsightly objects originally, but toned down 
by the embrowning of age and the partial covering with 
moss and creepers — now stood in staring horror, monsters 
of raw-colored beheadedness, and skinned into the bargain. 
Uncle Ben had brought his axe and peeled them, all round, 
for the dry wood outside ! Why, the meadow and hillside 
were made suddenly horrible ! To eradicate the stumps 
wholly would be a herculean job, and a part of them must 
be still left, as young trees had started from the same roots. 
What friendship, that was not wholly sainted, could stand 
such a trial ? But still I did not altogether break with 
Uncle Ben. 

A month or so, and we exchanged greetings as usual, 
but I was far from supposing the old man to be the author 
of another trouble of mine. The tips of the branches of a 
beautiful clump of hemlocks, near one of the gates, were 
constantly broken off and strewn upon the ground — an 
objectless barbarism which I took to be wholly mischiev- 
ous, and for which 1 had looked savage at various boys 
seen loitering thereabouts. But Uncle Ben was the cul- 
prit. And what do you suppose was his virtuous object ? 



Caprices of Climate. 313 

Oaught in tlie act, he said he was " only going to clean the 
mud off his shoes "• — he " didn't know such good-for-nothing 
brush was of any consequence, anyhow " — but " it was 
muddy weather, and the boss was awful neat and particu- 
lar about his gravel-walks, and he thought he'd better wipe 
his shoes before he camp in ! So there were the raw 
stumps of a hundred broken branches that had been used 
for shoe-brushes — an effect, like three-days' beard, in the 
first object which caught the visitor's eye on entering the 
gate — and my own " awful neatness " the avowed occasion 
for it ! I could stand it no longer. 

Still, I feel a kind of half reproach when I see Uncle 
Ben hobbling along the road and looking wistfully over 
the wall. With his imperfect memory he does not half 
comprehend the reason why he is " never to put foot inside 
that gate again," and of course I seem to him tyrannical 
and uncharitable. I must make it up to him some other 
way — but his disjointed mind will never put the two things 
together. I am sorry any man should be going so soon to 
Heaven with a wrong impression of me. But I trust I 
shall be forgiven, for my thus-explained first sin of exclu- 
siveness, by the other neighbors. 

My letter, thus far written, has lain by, for two or three 
days, and now — May the ninth — there is snow on the hills 
opposite. What caprices of climate ! The streams are all 
swollen with a flood, however, and the deep-down springs 

14 



314 The Convalescent. 

that have so long wanted it, are as happy as the hills are 
uncomfortable. The frost-nipped trees will get conapen- 
sated at the roots. So goes Nature's distributive alterna- 
tion ! Complain of no unhappiness, my dear Morris, if it 
is your turn / 

Yours ever. 



LETTER XXXII. 

Prodigality of Spring— Blight of Evergreens — Pleasure of living in the country 
— Hog Liberty, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, June. 
I AM ashamed of mj want of faith in the prodigalities 
of nature. The last year's droughts, unredeemed by 
corresponding deluges as yet, are smothered out of sight 
and sign by the overburdening leaf stacks of this second 
week of June — the woods dark as cathedrals and the 
shadows falling like thunder clouds under every tree. God 
be praised for a Providence altogether immeasurable ! 
The sense of a limit to " the hollow of bis hand " — blind- 
ness only though it was, to foresee it in the dispensation of 
The Seasons — shuts the soul in like a wall. 

Yet the quantity of dead wood, now buried up in this 
overwhelmingness of foliage, was a majority of the held- 
up hands out-of-doors. Through April and May, I be- 
lieved it would take years for our groves and woods to 
recover from the simoon that had passed over them. The 
dry sticks, and withered tops and branches, alone caught 
the eye. Particular kinds of trees, the sycamore and the 

815 



31G The Convalescent. 

flat cedar especially, are nearly annihilated, as it is. It 
would make you melancholy to walk around Downing's 
sacred home, and see the once imperviously inclosing wall of 
this latter tree, blasted as if by a plague. But the hem- 
locks have put on their gold thimbles with the profuseness 
of the first glow of a sunset, and the nut-trees are beyond 
all squirrel-prophecy of famine, I venture to say — the tulip- 
trees out-flowering any remembered precedent, and the 
beeches and maples and oaks joyously overladen. You 
are to be pitied that your bricks in the city have no June ! 

Amid all this sumptuousness of fulfilment on the part of 
nature, however, I have been vexed beyond endurance, to- 
day, by the lag of civilization around us. The neighbor- 
hood has an incqrrigible barbarism. I must write about it 
— for, after three years of patience, I have suffered as much 
from it to day as ever before, and a protesting pen may 
possibly do some good besides being an escape-valve of 
temper. Most reforms have been first written about. 

As a general thing (to premise a little) I do not regret 
having been born in the present age. There will be pleas- 
ant people and things in the next century, no doubt — well 
worth waiting for, if one's birth had chanced to be put off. 
But the nineteenth century is very fair, and I am content, 
for instance, with the prospect of rotting in your charming 
company, my dear Morris! There is only one thing 
which, at Idlewild, makes me feel born rather too early. 



Hog Liberty. 317 

Civilization has a barbarism still to outlive in this neioh- 
borhood, and, for the sake of being subsequent to that (if 
I had been consulted), I should probably have expressed a 
desire to have it postponed. Hogs^ here, still run loose. 
The laW forbids it, but public opinion has not yet overtaken 
the law. 

One more preliminary remark, to prevent an inference that 
would fall unjustly, if by " public opinion " I were supposed 
to meau only the opinion of the poor. It is my wealth- 
iest and most exemplarily Christian neighbor, of whose 
habitually stray sow I have a story to tell. That fact 
is the stumbling block to the whole progress of civil- 
ization on the subject. It is pointed to at once, by every 
poor man hereabouts, as a justification and example to his 
humbler pig. Friend S. is our acknowledged best Christ- 
ian and most lovable and benevolent neighbor. Honor 
and blessing follow his white locks wherever he goes. But, 
of his eighty-two years, seventy-six have passed in unques- 
tioning toleration of hog liberty. It is too late to persuade 
hira, now, that the birds are not to fly through the air nor 
his sow to have the freedom of the highway. Show him 
the print of the animal's back on your new-painted gate, 
and he says " poor thing ! it itched 1" or, if you remon- 
strate, he kindly yields to your prejudice, and promises to 
shut her up— but she is out ngain, in a day or two, all the 
same. It seemed cruel to Lim to confine her, and he 



318 The Convalescent. 

hoped you had forgotten your whim, and she mightn't ran 
that way again. Hogs, too, had been permitted to have 
the freedom of that road when Georfje Washinirton rode 
over it, and with his own cherished memories of daily 
meeting the two, how could he be harsh upon the survivor ? 
And, by this historic stronghold of sow liberty I should 
feel effectually Sebastopoled, but that the memory of Na- 
poleon comes to my aid. A week ago my friend Monell, 
of Newburgh, had given me a slip of weeping willow, 
grown from a branch of the one which hangs over the 
tomb of the Emperor at St. Helena. (Monell was one 
of Downing's intimate friends, and the tree was one of 
that admirable man's most cherished horticultural trea- 
sures.) To preserve this was a point of tender interest with 
me, and I had chosen for its sanctuary the moist bosom of a 
wooded dell, opening up from the meadow and clumped 
otherwise most beautifully and appropriately with cedars. 
It had never occurred to me to so dispose the plant that it 
would not lie in the natural path of a sow under pressure 
of pursuit — but such was its destiny. As I rode down the 
glen this morning, I spied the snouted invader rooting 
busily in the velvet sward of the meadow — a kind of dana- 
age, where floods overflow, particularly irreparable and un- 
sightly. My first impulse was to drive her into the high- 
way : and without stopping to open the gate (Friend S. 's 
particular sow being a cross of the caterpillar, and crawl- 



The Snouted Invader. 319 

ing over a wall in preference to going out by any gate you 
can open,) I put spurs and gave chase. Sir Archy was the 
faster animal of the two ; and, after being jumped over and 
tyrodden down several times in the open meadow, the hard- 
run sow took to the thicket on the hill-side, leaving me to 
ride around and head her off by the carriage-road above. 
And with the first stone thrown from the terrace, she took 
the groove of the hollow at a walloping trot and tumble, wip- 
ing her milky way over the prostrated willow, and stripping 
the new buds from its delicate stem as neatly as a wipe 
with a patent corn-sheller ! Now what think you of an 
age in which the most cherished friendship can keep that 
sow to forgive ? I must frankly own, that, with all my 

affectionate admiration for Friend S , I could better 

enjoy an epoch that had outlived his views on the sub- 
ject. God bless the old man — but, for his sow, vice 
verscL ! 

I fear I should not send ray letter if T were to give it a 
morning's re-perusal, my dear Morris — this country life 
and my troublesome cough making it hard to say prayers 
over even a stray pig unforgiven — and I will sign and seal 
while I can, with ray wrath and the candle both burning. 
Good niffht. 

, Yours always. 



& 



LETTER XXXIII. 

Discovery of a New Spring— Employment for Idle Day— Digging out a Hanging 
Rock— A Discovery — A Visit, etc., etc. 

Idlewild. 
We have discovered so many new poets and poetesses 
in our time — founts of Helicon that have run for the 
world's refreshment thenceforward, by their own natural 
hydraulic pressure — that it will, perhaps, be a pleasant 
variety to our readers if I chronicle a first drink at a Grace 
Greenwood of Nature's own — a bright, cool, sparkling spring, 
which burst its unforetold and unexpected way to light 
under my pioneering spade and pickaxe, ten days ago. 
You remember my playing of truant — succumbing to the 
inveiglements of a June morning — with an inkstand and a 
Monday's task left beckoning in vain. I found the new 
treasure, the pure new spring, that day — a reward of idle- 
ness which is so certain, in some shape, for me, that I 
began to think " the Leviathan " and I have the same errand 
in life, made only, as the Psalmist says, " to take pastime 
therein." 

Head idleness, of course, must have some little job for 
the hands. The brains will not let their own tools alone, 

820 



Employment for Idle Day. 321 

unless to look on while the duller faculties do somelhi:^ 



with theirs — a scholar's necessity, for which a countryjife 
coraes charmingly into play. Thera is always some' plea- 
sant work on hand, a blemish to remove, a path to clear 
or a wild beauty to develop or heighten. My proniinent 
enterprise for the moment was the cfearance of an §^iio&t' 
impenetrable dell, which had been the rubbish hole^^d 
stump-pit of our glen from time immemorial ; and thita.er, 
with Bell and Robert, and the axes and pickaxes^ turned 
a joyous face for that forenoon of summer idlepess. 

You may have noticed, in descenditig the windmg road 
through the ravine, that a superb clump of heinlocks rests 
like a bunch of emeralds on the breast of <!tie opposite hill. 
You could not see, however, that, in behind th^r trunks, 
held like a bowling-ball in the player's hand, restg. one of 
those hanging rocks (" bowlder-stones," the geologists call 
them) which show, by their rounded edges, that they have 
travelled ; and which are strangers to the^ strata around, 
though they made their stop where they are, probably, on 
the last day of the deluge. In Idkwild^len there are 
four of these — ^each one large enough fipr a cathedral dome ; 
and two of them, indeed, so archite<ituralfy upheld and 
roofed over by columns of large trees that they have always 
seemed to me like dark cathedral chapels with pulpits of 
stone. It was the largest of these chapels of whose floor 
and galleries we were to make a clearing. The sustained 

14* 



322 The Convalescent. 

rock projects ftir out from the side-hill, and we had often 
sat under the rock itself, with its dark roof of hemlocks, 
looking down on the small lake below ; but, around and 
behind, was an impenetrable thicket of logs and tangle- 
wood, in which, as we have always supposed, the foxes and 
possums, skunks, rabbits and wild-cats, had their original 
and respected shelter. 

To chop out the logs, and, by rolling them upon the 
brush we had first heaped in, to make some sort of footing 
in the swampy lap of the hollow, was the work of my two 
men for the day. The digging into the upper bank, as we 
began to do, towards evening, for gravel to cover this, 
brought us upon our discovery. Running my hoe into a 
sort of grotto which wound away out of sight under some 
roots at the level of my head, I noticed that I had sud- 
denly made a channel for a stream of bright pure water. 
I caught a handful of it, and my exclamation of its exces- 
sive coldness brought up Bell, who peeled a hemlock twig, 
fixed a spout at the outlet, and took a drink — pronouncing it 
at once (with one of his expressions of private emphasis), 
the best spring within twenty miles. It was a crystalline, 
ready-ised stream, running out over clean white gravel, 
and with about the steady abundance of a Croton faucet. 
Its elevation, forty or fifty feet above the brook, suits it for 
the action of the hydraulic ram, and, to the lovely home 
that must some day be built, opposite Idlewild, on the 



A Beautiful Scene. 323 

promontory above, it will doubtless be the prized messen- 
ger of daily healtb and luxury. 

At present we should have a fairy child to baptize — for 
never was there sylvan chapel, with roof, pulpit and bap- 
tismal font more wildly beautiful. It overhangs our little 
lake and its shore of drip-rock and wooded cliffs — a three- 
sided grotto opening to the south — and, though somewhat 
muddy and dirty now, in another year it will be carpeted 
with moss, and draped with water-plants and vines, worthy 
of druid consecration. It is the nature of new-found 
springs to strengthen with flowing and coming to light; 
and this, by its icy coldness, comes from deep-down, where 
earth is constant. It will run many a day after its first 
finder is forgotten — but it will be among two or three spots 
which I shall wish to revisit again, remembered there or 
not ; and please think of me, when you drink at this chapel- 
spring, by and by, with the chance of my being there to be 

pleased. 

****** 

Receive my felicitations at your being present at this 
point of eternity. June, as we have it to-day, is a luxury 
in which the vet unborn (amono; whom vou mis^ht have 
been kept waiting, you know) have a decided loss. Every- 
thing is alive with fragrance, beauty and music — every- 
thing happy that can isolate itself in to-day and forget 
yesterdays and to-w.orrows. Nature is a little behind the 



324 The Convalescent. 

time, I think, in " not advertising." It was by merest acci- 
dent I discovered that one of her finest performances came 
off in our ravine, last night — a freshet and a full moon 
coming together, accompanied by such an atmosphere, for 
temperature, transparency and fragrancy, as is only " turned 
on" (like the roof gas at the Academy) for "star bene- 
fits." It was too beautiful a night to go to bed ; and I 
had strolled down into the ravine, led insensibly by the 
roar of the torrent and thinking^ more of other matters than 
of finding anything particular going on, when, suddenly, I 
stood motionless with astonishment. I had stepped out of 
the darkness of the woods into an illumination. The turn 
of the path had brought me to the edge of the precipice 
overlooking the cascades, and, with the thunder-storms we 
had been having all day, the stream was swollen to a 
cataract — a cataract, apparently, of burning silver. It was 
close upon midnight, and the nearly full moon chanced to 
be directly over the ravine, the almost vertical rays throw- 
ing the overhanging precipices into shadow, and thus 
(curiously enough) illuminating only the stream. It was 
a thunder-torrent of gleaming and molten light breaking 
its way down through crowding darkness. In my whole 
life, I had really seen no sight more sublime. After stand- 
ing a moment or two on the foot-bridge overhanging the 
cascades, I hurried home and got my people out of their 
beds, stumbled back through the woods with the little 



A Splendid Spectacle 325 

slippered feet making their astonished way after me, and — 
the performance had its proper audience ! My wife and 
daughter could hardly be got home again, so fascinated 
were they with the strange splendor of the spectacle. As 
they stood on the slender bridge with their white dresses 
and kerchiefed heads, I scrambled down the cliffs below, and 
saw them, high up between me and the moon, half draped 
in the clouds of silvery mist — sprite-like figures in a pic- 
ture of certainly most wonderful beauty. I shall never 
forget it. But you see how easily we might have gone to 
bed, never suspecting the wonders so near by. 

****** 

" The commonest incident of life is romantic enough, if 
truly told," says some great writer, and, with this encour- 
agement, I think I will describe a call that I had yesterday, 
from a fair stranger, at Idlewild. I can thus embody, also, 
a request of the lady that I would name a little want of 
hers, in print. It is pleasant, in this indolent weather, to 
make even the slight labor of the pen serve two purposes. 

Some weeks ago (to preface a word or two) I had re- 
ceived a letter expressing a wish which was too natura 
and simple not to be rather extraordinary, and which, 
therefore, I did not exactly see the way to fully realize. 
The writer described herself, in very graceful language, as 
a lady residing in the very depths of the country ; but she 
had become enamored of the two of her own sex who had 



32,6 The Convalescext. 

shone so brilliantly in the columns of the Home Journal 
(''La Penserosa" and "La Moqueuse"), and wished to pro- 
pose to one of them the opening of a private and confi- 
dential exchange of sister minds — rural enthusiasms for city 
experiences. Certain that it would be very useless to pro- 
pose, to either of the gifted ladies in question, the under- 
taking of confidential reciprocities with an unknown of 
whom I could tell so little, I laid aside the well-expressed 
and daintily written letter — intending to answer it when I 
should find the leisure, or to hand it personally to the 
admired '• La Penserosa," when she should visit us in 
June. 

It was with this little mystery in the egg that I received, 
yesterday, what I took to be one of the ordinary and daily 
visits of strano^ers to Idlewild — a sfcntleman sendino^ in his 
card after rambling through the glen, and wishing to 
express his pleasure in the scenery, with the usual polite 
acknowledgment of membership in our literary parish. 
He was a young physician of twenty-five or thirty, and 
accompanied by a lady, whom I incidentally discovered, 
after a few minutes' conversation, to be a bride of three 
days — a revelation which brought a very attractive blush 
into a very lovely face; though indeed, I had already 
recognized, by the indescribable betrayal which nature 
breathes through the mere presence of the work she is 
proud of, that it was beauty even better tenanted than 



My Unknown Applicant for Correspondence. 321 

built. There was a charming mind looking out of the win- 
dows of those large brown eyes. 

And this proved to be my unknown applicant for a cor- 
respondence with a sister-spirit. And she still expressed 
herself with timid perseverance in the request. 

1 ventured to suggest, with a glance at the good-looking 
and gentlemanly young doctor, who listened with bride- 
groom unobjectingness, that, with her new duties, she might 
not continue to find the electricity to spare ; but she seemed 
to have anticipated no such economy of a heart she probably 
felt to be overcharged, and the warmth for a friendship 
ihat would enlarge her knowledge, she thought, would 
never be missed. She was quite ready to date from the 
honeymoon with her first letter ; and, if I could not other- 
wise find the metropolized sister-spirit, perhaps the 7nention 
of the want in print might vibrate upon some hidden chord 
in tune. 

I thus lay the matter before the ladies. My word for it, 
simply, that the applicant is of nature's rarity of choice 
work — a violet of the wild-wood wishing to exchange frag- 
rance with a japonica of the green-house. A letter 
inclosed to me, addressed — say "Violet" — will be duly 
forwarded to her, and, therefore, the sister flowers can 
exchange real addresses, if mutually content, and carry 
on the correspondence at their own pleasure and discre- 
tion. 



328 The Convalescent. 

My history of a morning call is not very eventful, dear 
Morris, but it is, at least, true. And then, though simple 
to read of, it is new to follow up and think of. High- 
ipiced fiction, besides, may be needing the relish of plainer 
liet, just now. So be content. 

Yours. 



LETTER XXXIV. 

Answer to many Inquiries — Corroboration of Experience — Mental Effect of 
Horseback-Riding— Unstableness of a Stable — Exercise with or without 
Fatigue — Insufficiency of Pedestrian Exercise — Philosophy of Uses of a Horse 
— Importance of the Use of a Saddle-Horse to Old Age— How much it affects 
Brain-work in all Professions — Advice to Convalescents, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, January, 
This letter may be made to discharge two errands — (a 
favorite double-barrel-ism in my e-pistol-SiTj practice, if you 
have chanced to observe) — in the first place, explaining to 
you why you are receiving less " copy " than usual from 
my faithful pen ; and, in the second place, answering the 
questions of numerous correspondents, on a subject upon 
which my previous hints have proved more suggestive than 
was anticipated. In addition to the methods of best aiding 
the physician in combating with diseases of the lungs, I 
find there is a curiosity as to the means of sustaining and 
reinforcing convalescence. The invalids among our readers 
form so large a class (in this country of overwork and 
hurry, where health is so culpably neglected), that, even at 
the risk of reputation, I will enlarge a little upon the points 
which have particularly stirred inquiry. First, let me give 
a portion of a letter I have just received, which corrobo- 



330 The Convalescent. 

rates an important further reach in my own experience. 
A gentleman writes me from New York : 

" While enterinor an extract from that valuable work, 
' Helps,' in my commonplace-book, the other day, it occur- 
red to me that it was a valuable extension of your own 
remark on the same subject. You may remember, that, in 
the Home Journal of January 17, 1857, you suggested the 
importance of ' exercise, with the legs of a horse to do the 
work.'' The physical advantage of this was the main bur- 
den of your argument. But the extrect from 'Helps' 
advocates its effect upon the mind. He says ; 

" ' It is difficult for a man, unless he is a perfect horse- 
man, to think connectedly during a ride; which is the 
vefy reason why horse-exercise is so good for the studious 
and busy ; but the inspiriting nature of the exercise may 
still enable the rider to overcome special points of difficulty 
in any subject he is thinking over. There is all the differ- 
ence between the thoughts of a man who is plodding home- 
wards on his own legs under an umbrella, and those of the 
same man who on horseback is springing over the elastic 
turf, careless whether wind or rain drives against him or 
not, that there was between the after-dinner and the next 
morning: counsels of the ancient Germans.' " 

Now, to show how exactly this tallies with my own recent 
experience, may not be uninstructive. 

For the last two or three weeks, by a concurrence of 
events in the stable (that most unstable department of a 
man's household) I have been reduced to my own legs ; 



Exercise with or without Fatigue. 331 

feeling, probably, with the difference of locomotion with or 
without a horse under me, very much as Satan did when 
deprived of legs and wings by the mandate, " Upon thy 
belly shalt thou go." My one good horse and my two poor 
ones gave out together. With a " thrush in his foot," I 
was obliged to send the Black Prince to our friend Dis- 
brow, who kindly offered to cure and exercise him on the 
tan-bark floor of his riding-school ; Lady Jane is so far 
advanced in her family wax that she is only useful in the 
family wain ; and old Sir Archy's knees, being " past pray- 
ing for," have so taken to praying for themselves, that 
(with this frozen ground and its sharp points to stumble 
over and fall upon) the mounting of him insures you at 
least two knee-pans of mince piety. 

For the one un-omit-able necessity of convalescence, 
therefore — the perspirative conquest over the open air once 
a day — I am reduced to the exertion of my own muscles. 
I am obliged to walk myself into a perspiration, instead of 
riding into one. And, may I be excused if I explain the 
difference with some particularity ? 

Medical books tell us (as I have already quoted) that 
pedestrianism pulls upon those forces of the loins and 
the spine which directly sustain the brain ; and that is the 
kind of exercise, therefore, which the weary intellectual 
laborer can least afford. But, besides the sj^aring of the 
muscles of the back and the spinal marrow, there are 



332 The Convalescent. 

others of less tangible " let-ups," which are still more neces- 
sary for mental relaxation, and to all of which pedestrian- 
ism is, to say the least, very unfavorable. First, the mind 
should be unhitched from the particular subject, of the 
burden of which it is weary. Second, the will should 
be unpivoted, so that it is no longer called upon for con- 
tinued effort. Third, the scenery, or surrounding objects, 
should be changed in sufficiently quick succession to cap- 
tivate and employ the eye. And, fourth, the animal spirit 
should be enlivened, by some natural, healthful and easy 
exhilaration. 

In the reading of the last paragraph, the reader of course 
has been mentally running a parallel between the two 
kinds of exercise. It is, in fact, a correct list, both of the 
disadvantages of walking and the advantages of riding. 
The loins and spine are the portions of the frame least 
called upon for exertion when a man is on horseback. 
The entire contrast of motion and occupation, with the act 
of mounting, changes at once the character and current of 
the thoughts. As the horse does the work, and his legs 
go on, whether they are remembered at every step or 
not, it is no continued exercise of the rider's will to keep 
moving. With four times as great velocity, and going 
four times as far, the eye, during the ride, is an effortless 
kaleidoscope, amusing the tired brain in spite of itself. 
Then, who that has ever ridden sufiSciently to identify him- 



Philosophy of Uses of a Horse. 333 

self with a horse — what man who can assume at will the 
consciousness of a centaur — need be told of the exhilara- 
tion of feeling that his natural strength and swiftness are 
ten times multiplied ? 

And I may (or may not, according to who is the reader 
just now), be called imaginative for another -value that I 
long ago discovered in the possession of a horse — a value 
which cannot be realized by riding in a carriage, or by any 
other conveyance than the daily bestriding of the animal 
and so incorporating him with the habitual consciousness 
of personal motion. I refer to the amount of space which 
constitutes one^s occupancy of the face of the earth. To 
him who walks but two miles a day and back again, the 
room he inhabits on this planet is an orbit with a radius of 
two miles. To him who rides five or ten miles a day and 
back again, it is an orbit with a radius of five or ten miles. 
I insist upon it, that the instinct of breadth or extent in a 
man's share of the world, and consequently, in some degree, 
his sense of the dignity and capacity of his existence, is in 
proportion to this difference in his personal habits. It 
may help to excuse my second mention of this equestrian 
philosophy, if I suggest another and graver advantage in 
the same habit, viz. — the supply it is to the failing strength 
and activity of old age^ and the invigorating countercheck 
which it maintains to that narrowing of the circle of life 
and that feeling of desertedness which comes with lessened 



334 The Convalescent. 

converse and observation. " The old gentleman's cob," as 
it is called — a stout, gentle and sure-footed roadster brought 
every morning to the door — is an essential portion of the 
daily consciousness and enjoyment of every venerable 
grandsire among the parks and manor-houses of England. 

To return to ray present tribulation, however, for the 
sake of contributing its painful and actual experience to the 
ever valuable data of science ! 

With no horse to ride, my daily exercise, of course, has 
been taken on foot ; but, this, I find, besides the demeaning 
effect of its heavy shoeing, muddiness and drudgery, and 
l)esides its lack of proper shaking up for that ^anndice-box 
which is called the liver, is so fatiguing as to deprive me 
of one of the most valuable portions of my literary day. 
The far better exercise of the saddle — that healthful inward 
agitation of the vital organs, expansion of chest and lungs, 
and lively distribution of the heat and juices of the system 
— is done, on the contrary, not only without fatigue, 
but with actual refreshing and strengthening. Returning 
from my afternoon ride, usually at dusk, I have three hours 
— from five to eight o'clock — of the most enjoyable and 
efficient use of my mental powers. You can fancy what an 
addition, to each day's morning work, is this evening ses- 
sion ! But, after a long walk — when the labor of getting 
up a perspirative glow out of doors has been done by my 
own consciously weary legs and loins instead of the put- 



Advice to Invalids. 335 

away and forgotten ones of Lady Jane or the Black Prince 
— what a ditference in my condition ! I am incapable of 
mental effort altogether ! Brain dulled and animal spirits 
deadened by fatigue, I am one-horse-power less of a man 
than I should otherwise be. And pray tell me whether 
this extra one-horse-power is not worth adding to the daily 
capacity of any man — lawyer, preacher, merchant or states- 
man, as Well as author or editor ? Is it not the most 
obvious economy (of the bodily and mental strength which 
constitutes the " stock in trade " of most men) to make a 
habit of horse- back riding ? 

On the lesser points of the art and mystery of convales- 
cence — those which are matters of inquiry by the " con- 
sumptives " among our correspondents — I have nothing 
new to urge. Every man has his variety of diseases and 
of constitution, and, with the aid of a judicious physician, 
it is easy for him to become the absolute master of his own 
symptoms and their best treatment. An invalid may often, 
by judgment and self-control, enjoy a degree of" high con- 
dition," of which few men with unshattered constitutions 
know the luxury. It is the sensation of the race-horse in 
high training, and with the nerves and susceptibilities made 
more delicate by disease. But, for this, a" most systematic 
and unvarying attention to trijies is required. The stomach 
is to be controlled and watched like an experiment in 
chemistry. Exercise, sleep, perspiration, temper, cleanli- 



336 The Convalescent. 

ness, amusement, and a clear conscience, are to be persever- 
ingly and unexceptionably looked to. And most of those 
who can never again be carelessly well, may live out 
quite their natural length of days, and with their full share 
Df usefuness and enjoyment, by consenting to so attend 
to those trifles of self-government that they are always 
carefidly well, 

I have thus written you quite a chapter of dietetics — so 
grave a one, indeed, that any lighter gossip at the close 
would, I am sure, be out of tune. I'will conclude with 
begging you (a convalescent, yourself), to ponder well 
the precepts herein inculcated, and to see also, in this 
letter, the reason of my industrial shortcomings, remember- 
ing that Black Prince, wno usually does half my daily 
labor, is lame at Disbrow's, and that I am, therefore, only 

Yours afoot. 



LETTER XXXV. 

ADVICE FOR I N V A L I D S , E T C, 

Idlewild, April, 
If I write to you, this morning, with my pen held loosely 
in my fingers — very much as I should think aloud, if you 
occupied the other chair at this river-side window of my 
sick-room — it will not be a letter for all readers. I shall 
gossip to you of what floats uppermost in a brain at the 
ebb ; and, to those only who are invalids, with the tide of 
life run down for the moment, like mine, is this likely to 
to be interesting. And how many are these ? Among our 
great multitude of friends and readers, are there inva- 
lids enough to be separately written for ? If I mistake in 
thinking so, it is an error upon which to thank Providence ; 
but, upon the somewhat sad possibility, I will at least take 
an invalid key for the tone of this present letter. 

I see Spring — ^budding, flowering, leaf- starting and ver- 
dure brightening, in wondrous beauty out of doors — but, 
without me ! I am left behind while this gay procession is 
gliding past. And this is a part of a conscious feeling 
which has lately given me a groat deal of thought. The 

16 88T 



338 The Convalescent. 

sense of isolation, in sickness, seems to be such an inevit- 
able law of our nature ; and we are no less islanded, on 
our sick bed, because we are tenderly watched and kindly 
ministered to. It is across a gulf that they reach to us — 
they with whom we no longer sit down to eat, or go forth to 
walk, or converse carelessly and gaily. The mail comes 
in as usual with its news, but from a world with which ray 
pulses are not in tune. The sun rises over familiar river 
and mountain that T cannot now visit — on roads that I 
cannot now travel — on well remembered labor and pleas- 
ure that I cannot now share. Children come in to see me, 
but not with their usual frolicsomeness and freedom. 
Their voices are subdued with a vague awe of the paler 
face and the invalid surroundings. Even the birds that 
fly past the window seem to have less thought of me than 
usual — building their nests for the summer just as well, 
though T am not out under the trees, as I was wont to be, 
guarding their innocent homes from the sportsman's gun 
and the boy's mischief. Of what I know as " the world," 
I am no longer a part — no longer necessary to its present 
day's doings and completeness. 

And — strangely enough — there is no pain in this con- 
scious dismemberment from the life around ? As to the 
mere instinct, it is like undressing for sleep when weary — 
laying off the clothes, that, to wear with comfort, we must 
be strong and wakeful. But it is mainly for the sore need 



Advice for Invalids. 339 

of the mind^ probably, that, by the wise Providence of 
God, with the probable approach of Death, comes the 
weaning from the world we are to leave. Upon the reli- 
gious bearing of this provision of our nature — the being 
left alone with the heart within us that it may kneel in 
solitude to its Maker — I need not touch. It is a self 
preaching sermon from the text. But it is wonderful, also, 
how it makes easy and natural — as if no other pathway 
would do so well — the long-dreaded and dark steps down- 
ward — how it makes for the first time comprehensible and 
sweet, the strange words of the Preacher, in Ecclesiastes, 
that " the day of death is better than the day of one's 
birth." Something beyond, that is better than life, and to 
which the grave is the threshold, has been approached — 
recognized and felt, even though the sickness be but a com- 
ing near to Death's gate from which we are once more to 
turn back. If only as a sweet memory with which to re- 
turn to life and health, the invalid's isolation is a blessing. 
It is like the mist of the departing day — separated from 
earth, but islanded in the sunset cloud which brightens as 
it sails away to be forgotten. 

4c ¥r 4: H: ^ ^ 

I have thought of suggesting to our very eloquent pas- 
tor, Mr. Wyatt, the preaching of a sermon on the care of 
one's own health as a religious responsibility. Most human 
illnesses, no doubt, could, with timely and easy precautions, 



340 The Convalescent. 

have been avoided. Nature gives her warnings which we 
willfully disregard — " first symptoms," of which every one 
knows the import and the remedy. Is not this trifling 
with the health which is the most precious of God's tem- 
poral gifts? Nay, more; is it not an almost universal 
shortening of the lives that have been sacredly intrusted to 
us, and do we not thus — remotely and indirectly, but still in 
some positive degree — come under the same reprobation, 
as the suicide ? Might it not, on this ground, be most use- 
fully and properly numbered among the child's moral les- 
sons at school, to pay a minute and ever watchful attention 
to health, as a duty no less to himself than to his God ? 

It may be instructive to invalids if I make confession 
how I am myself thus culpable — this recent illness being 
but the inevitable sequent of a neglected warning. I had 
been " moping" for a day or two when a slight engage- 
ment called me to New York. Instead of going to the 
city, I should have put myself on diet, doubled my exer- 
cise in the saddle, given my pen a holiday, and (with an 
alternation of nux vomica and berberis) gone early to bed. 
There are medicines, of course, which will defer sickness, 
temporary stimulants by which the laggard system is made 
to outrun disease for the moment ; and, to these, I trusted 
for my three days of irregularities. Close upon this, how- 
ever, followed a more imperative engagement which kept 
me three days longer in the city; and, redoubling my 



Advice for Invalids. 341 

drugs of procrastination, I kept up — to come home to the 
struggle with suppressed ailments which had meantime 
accumulated to a crisis. To pulmonary patients (of whom 
I have the honor to be, I believe, the convalescent oracle), 
this penalty for the disregard of first symptoms is espe- 
cially a warning — the tendency of all fevers to inflammation 
of the lungs making it almost a certainty that the severest 
part of the attack will be upon the already weakened and 
most susceptible portion of the system. 

May ^th. — I have been out, since the date of the fore- 
going (written propped up in bed, a week or ten days 
since), and there is one pleasure of convalescence which I 
felt rather more vividly than ever before, and which I will 
record as a suggestion to brother invalids ; at the same 
time that it may be an added mite, perhaps, to the philo- 
sophy of human consciousness. 

Like as it is, to the emergence from a chrysalis, to get 
abroad again after the confinement of a sick-room — the 
trees and fields seeming a beautiful world which we have 
lived in before in some different shape — there is yet, in the 
weakness of limbs and the faint unwillingness for exer- 
tion, a sense of not belonging as yet to what is around us. 
Our sluggish pulse does not keep time with the fresher and 
faster life of Nature out of doors. 

It was with this feelinor that I climbed, with some diffi- 



342 The Convalescent. 

culty, into the saddle, on one of the most lovely mornings 
of this inspiring adolescence of the year — a balmy fore- 
noon of bloomino^ and exultino^ Mav. I took the bridle in 
my hand, a feeble but admiring looker-on — grateful to God 
for only the privilege to inhale the intoxicating air, and be 
out where I could more nearly and realizingly marvel and 
adore. Once in my seat, however, and fairly loitered 
forth from the steep tangle of our hemlock woods, my 
familiar horse, to whose step and motion I was as much used 
as to the lifting of my own limbs, became a part of me 
again. I galloped off — suddenly restored to the fall con- 
sciousness of health and its vigor of movement. It was as 
if the half of me only had been ill. With the natural in- 
corporation of that daily-ridden animal into my identity 
— the invariable feeling, I believe, of the habitual rider — 
bis limbs were as my own. I was like a centaur, whose 
head and lungs might have their human ailments, but 
whose body and legs under him would retain their brute 
speed and vigor — ready to be fleet and strong again at the 
first re-venturing forth of the rallying and predominating 
intellect. 

Is not this a noteworthy hint of how to quicken the 
convalescent's retarded life ? Is it not an ad(iition to the 
phenomena of possible sensation — to be numbered with 
the first sense of swimming, or the aeronaut's half-conscious- 
ness of wings ? 



Advice for Invalids. 343 

But, what a thrilling luxury was the hour-or-two abroad, 
on the fragrant and bright May morning ! My first 
thought was to track again the five streams whose banks I 
follow oftenest in my home rambles — down Idlewild Brook 
to the Hudson ; along the Moodna from its junction with 
the Hudson to Mortonville Creek ; up the wild bank of 
this precipitous stream to the turnpike ; then by a mile of 
road through English scenery to Rock-ladder Brook, and 
down this lovely rivulet by the sweetest of green lanes till 
it brinors me back ao;ain to *the Moodna — a four-mile dia- 
gram of the picturesque, drawn by the running water of 
wholly different streams, and each with its valley of char- 
acteristic and peculiar beauty. It is the wealth of Idle- 
wild that these four lesser water-nymphs (beside the 
queenly Hudson) dwell within reach of an hour's ramble 
from the gate ; and I do not love them any the less poeti- 
cally because they turn the water-wheels of flour-mills and 
factories instead of being haunted by fairies. They will be 
Wheeler-and-Wilsoned into their natural idleness of beauty 
in due time ! 

But what a well-bestowed law of Providence it is, that 
all thino-s are not beautiful tosjether ! With the abundant 
waters of the early spring, these wild streams are now in their 
glory. To ride through the valleys with their foam and 
sparkle to look upon, we are scarce conscious how bare are 
the trees, how tardy are the belated blossoms, how coy tho 



344 The Convalescent. 

wild-flowers. And it is as well, perhaps, to remind the 
stranger, who may ramble through these same wild roads 
in summer, that the shrubs and foliage, the vines and ver- 
dure, will be then taking their turn — our water-nymphs of 
April and May less lovely in their retirement and undress, 
and content to be outshone when less wanted. But, for the 
present, how inspiriting they are ! What magnetizing music 
in their dance over the rocks — what electrifying of the 
blood in their swift sparkle — what inspiriting of the dull 
heart in their bright scorn of hindrance, and in their 
turning all obstacles into beauty. I was sure that the 
horse under me felt the excitement of it, for, as the wild 
waters sprung dancing and prancing along the road-side, 
he moved his fine legs to the same merry tune, overflowing 
with spring spirits and keeping his more quiet paces for 
the languor of " leafy June." 

But this is dream-weaving, dear Morris ! Though we 
never tire of nature, others tire to hear us talk of it ; and 
I will close here my chance letter of thinkings- aloud. To 
the invalids, whom alone I have thought of as my readers, 
while writing it, T will send thanks for the pleasure I have 
Lad in opening my heart to them, and T remain 

Yours as ever. 



LETTER XXXVI. 

EXPERIEfTCES OF FRIENDSHIPS, ETC. 

Idlewild, May, 
You have a rival in Torrey, our village blacksmith. Like 
yourself, he is my beloved friend, tried and trusted. But 
as he performs his kindly duties towards me on a difierent 
principle from yours — you denying me nothing, and Torrey 
resolutely refusing me everything which he thinks is " not 
best for me on the whole" — I have been led to look to 
the results, as facts which might help us to arrive at the true 
philosophy of the matter. Few questions in life are more 
important than Friendship and its duties. I shall not be 
considered tedious, I hope, if I record what few statistics I 
am sure of in my own personal experience, as a contribu- 
tion to this branch of the Science of the Affections — 
premising, only, (as is but honest to the reader,) that my 
preference is altogether for Morris-ism. By long expe- 
rience and to my consequently sweet and serious conviction, 
the absolute indulo-ence of a Willis's everv-imao-ined wish 
— his whims, caprices, changes, contradictions and myster- 

15* 345 



346 The Convalescent. 

ies — " turns out best." On this side of the question, the 
imperishable hyphen between our two names is argument 
enough. My present object is to give confirmatory proof 
of the evils of the opposite principle — Torrey-cism and its 
exceedingly risky consequences being the theme of the fol- 
lowinor letter. 

To fairly explain my stand-point in the argument — the 
aggravating extent of Torrey's well intentioned but obsti- 
nate resistance to my wishes — I must come to the confess- 
ional, for a moment. 

For every hard-working man, I believe, it is necessary to 
have a foible. Nature demands it as an escape-valve — 
nothing being such a let-up to over-tasked wisdom and ex- 
emplariness as some habitual point upon which to be daily 
silly or unreasonable. To those who live with me, or in 
ray immediate neighborhood, this confession is intelligible 
at a glance. I atn irreproachably industrious — (that much 
I think, may be borrowed from my often prepared tomb- 
stone) — but the silly sensitiveness of which I wish to 
" make a clean breast," is not in my profession. What the 
critics may have found to disapprove never gave me a second 
thought, nor did I ever wish praised or spoken of, read or 
remembered, by friend, relative or neighbor, the pen-work 
'' so laboriously achieve. In fact, I do not believe that I 
ehould ever be thought of as an editor, either by my own 
family or in the three villages from which Idlewild is equi- 



Experiences of Friendships. 347 

distant, if it were not for the never-ending inquiries of the 
way hither by a procession of young poets and poetesses 
seeking to be god- fathered, or the rise in the demand for 
building-lots, hereabouts, and the mention of the Home 
Journal by all the customers. 

No — it is upon a more recent accomplishment than 
nuthorsliip that I am nervously susceptible. Knowledge 
of horse — his value and his paces, but especially his treat- 
ment and his ailments — is my weakness!" Between my 
study and my stable.. I keep up the balance of existence — 
too faultlessly diligent (for the belief of posterity) in the 
one, if it were not for the time and temper obstinately 
wasted on the other. And I began my betrayal of this 
hobby vi^ith what the neighbors, here (particularly those 
who had horses to sell) called "nonsense;" though it 
was based upon the Bible. I had read in two books of the 
Old Testament, that King Solomon paid only seventy-five 
dollars apiece for his horses ; and upon the strength of this 
twice-recorded example, I determined, that, for what ani- 
mals a poor man like me could any way want, more could 
not properly be paid. I have contrived, hitherto— buying 
some cheaper and some dearer — that, of the eight or ten 
horses I have owned for the last five years, this should be 

* 1 Kings X. 29, and 2 Chronicles i. IT, it is recorded that Solomon paid, for 
each of his horses, brought out of Egypt, "one hundred and fifty shekels of sil- 
ver "—a shekel (according to the Bible Dictionary), being equal in value to an 
English half crown, or fifty cents of our money. 



348 The Convalescent. 

the average cost ; though the Black Prince (the colt, of 
which I have the story to tell) was beyond Solomon con- 
siderably — balanced pretty fairly, however, by a twenty- 
three-dollar mare, which Lady Jane killed with a jealous 
kick on the third day of my owning her. 

You will see, at once — remembering how the village 
blacksmith is not only the horse-doctor, but the judge and 
umpire of all questions as to the use, value and proper 
treatment of the animal — that Torrey's friendship occupies 
delicate ground ! He is little aware, in fact, when I drop 
in, every day or two, at his old tumble-down shanty, for a 
chat, how much ray rather varied experience of the sweet 
hypocrisies of polite life is called upon, to preserve a placid 
smile while he hammers out his contradictions on that 
opinionated old anvil. We so strangely disagree, on my 
weak points ! From the six Agricultural Journals which 
I receive every Wednesday, I can always pick some beauti- 
ful new theory of horse knowledge ; and, crammed secretly 
with this, I lounge in, quite accidentally, to astonish Torrey 
with my superior wisdom. But though the only veterinary 
reading he has ever done in his life has been his forty 
years' experience, he invariably " knows better." I will 
suspend my principal narrative for a moment, to give a re- 
cent instance of this downright obstinacy. 

In the " N'ew-England Farmer " I had seen a suggestion 
that the inserting of a piece of sole-leather, between the 



Experiences of Friendships. 349 

hoof and the shoe, would materially soften the shock of 
hard roads to a tender-footed horse, besides preventing the 
access of an occasional sharp stone to the unprotected hol- 
low of the foot. Now, of my two bay Solomons (kept 
for farm- work, but, with a change of harness, drawing the 
family to church very equipagestically on Sunday), the 
" nigh one " has a set of legs that should long ago have 
been given over to the " unrecorded past." The poor old 
horse is "used up" without knowing it! All pluck, and 
with unwavering faith in the joints and muscles that have 
served him so long, he answers the chirrup, at starting, 
with a loftily arched neck (the beauty of which gave him 
his name of "Sir Archy "), and puts out his unreliable old 
fore-legs with the high and lively action of a colt un- 
doubted. To meet him on the road, you would take him 
for a spirited young horse — while, the moment the harness 
is off, at the stable door, he goes hobbling off to his stall, 
like a gouty old gentleman crawling to bed without his 
crutches. 

" The very thing for poor tender-footed Sir Archy !" I 
exclaimed, as I read of the protective shock-softener ; and, 
in a very few minutes, he was on his way to the black- 
smith, with orders that he should be entirely reshod, and 
express directions as to the leather soles, which were to be 
got at the harness-maker's on the other side of the street. 

Of course, after dinner, the first thing was to go out to 



350 The Convalescent. 

the stable and have a look at the old steed in his soft 
moccasins. But — what was my astonishment ! There he 
stood, in his new shoes, the edges all bright with the fresh 
filing and hammering, but no sign of the leather sole ! I 
called for the stupid Irishman to give him a fui'ious scold- 
ing about the orders which I took for granted he had 
Hibernianistically neglected to give to Torrey ; but he anti- 
cipated the outbreak, hurrying out the explanation while I 
stood with trembling finger pointing to the shoes. 

" 'Twas no use, sir ! He said he wouldnH do no such 
thing ! It would only dry up the inside of the old critter's 
hoofs so that he couldn't put foot to the ground !" 

Between me and the blacksmith's shop — a little over a 
mile — there was fortunately no electric wire ; so I bottled 
up ray anger till the next day, thinking I would drive 
the horse to the village myself and insist on the job 
being done. But, I slept upon it. In the cool light of the 
next morning, I thought it possible that Torrey might be 
right, and — submitted. And, with the reader's mind thus 
somewhat prepared for a Torrey-cism, still more difficult to 
bear, I proc^eed with my narrative. 

Between me and my friend the blacksmith there has 
been, for some time, a very irritating bone of contention — 
the treatment of a certain black colt, which I bought half 
broken, and which I piqued myself on keeping in the high- 
est possible condition, while I trained him for perfection 



Experiences op Friendships. 351 

under the saddle. I had a theory as to the possibility of 
an animaVs retaining always the completeness of his natural 
beauty — tlie original type and model of the full-developed 
boily and limbs carefully preserved. I did not believe that 
either man, woman, or horse must necessarily grow 
unsightly, during the fulfillment of its natural life, any more 
than the unshot bird, or the uncaught fish, or the un fallen 
fruit, or the unplucked flower. So, for that long summer, 
I looked faithfully to the grooming and feeding of the 
handsome creature, riding him every day, and getting credit 
from all the farmers around for having the best-condi- 
tioned and finest colt in the county. But so thought not 
Torrey ! " Entirely over-fed !" " Young blood must be 
kept more down 1" " Mash and carrots instead of all that 
grain!" " Flesh ain't' sound, I tell ye!" These were the 
aggravating phrases with which I was greeted, every time 
I rode up to the shop to have a nail filel down or a shoe 
looked to. And he wound up so provokingly, always, as 
he shoved back his old remnant of a straw hat from his 
needlesslv hiq-h forehead, with that sio-nificant " You'll see !" 
But, in the autumn, my proud colt began to step lame. 
He flinched a little with the left fore-foot, and — of course 
— was to be taken to Torrey ! And, the cool way in 
which that tall blacksmith backed his long body under 
the horse, hoisted the troubled foot between his knees, 
wrenched ofi" the shoe and showed me the diseased crack 



352 The Convalescent. 

in the hoof, \vi:h a " Didn't I tell ye ?" would have pro- 
voked a Palmerston ! There it was — bad blood finding; a 
vent in a suppurating sore (which they commonly call a 
"Thrush"), and only to be cured with a six weets' purging 
and reducing — the fine creature to be made ill-looking and 
bony, in spite of all my systematic exercise and feeding ! 

As I have previously mentioned in the Home Journal 
(by way of making known to the public the utility of 
Disbrow's Arena for the winter exercise of the saddle- 
horses), I accepted a very kind offer for the lame Prince 
— that of taking him into the stud of the Riding-school, 
to be exercised on the soft floor of tan-bark till his foot 
should recover — all against Torrey's vehement protest, who 
declared that it was " perfect nonsense " to send the horse 
to the close stables of the city, and that he ought to be 
kept where he could get pure air enough and be let alone. 
And the wise blacksmith was riofht, ao-ain — confound it! — 
for the Prince fell immediately ill of the " distemper " on 
getting to the city, and liked to have died. 

But— to hurry to the climax. 

With Disbrow's kind care and skillful doctoring, mv colt 
came back to me in very good spirits in the latter part of 
March. Doubtful how much of his brief summer of early 
education he might have forgotten, and wishing, at any 
rate, to drill him back to ray own handling and my favor- 
ite gait, "while the nonsense was out of him," I sent hiju 



Experiences of Friendships. 353 

to " tlie shop," to have the temporary shoes, in which he had 
come home, replaced by new and strong ones — receiving 
him again, in an hour, with no shoes at all I " The horse 
was not ready for shoes, Mr. Torrey said." Straight back 
he was furiously and immediately sent, with express orders 
to have him shod ! ! And straight hack again, directly, he 
came once more, with a little more explanatory refusal. 
"That colt needed a month's pasture, and soft ground for 
the hoof that was just healed to spread and grow out natu- 
ral ; and, shoe him noiv, he would not ! For most cus- 
tomers he was in the habit of obeying orders and letting 
'em run their own risk ; but he was Mr. Willis's friend, and 
he wasn't ao-oino- to let him ruin a nice colt, if he could 
help it !" 

No appeal from a decision so peremp -Torrey, of course; 
and into the large green meadow below my study window, 
the delighted colt was let loose every morning for his day's 
run — the thoughtful eye that looked off from a quiet ink- 
stand to see his caracolling and plunging, as he coursed 
around perfectly frantic with spirits, wondering very natu- 
rally whether there was anything still to " grow out 
natural " in the hoof that could stand that ! And the colt, 
meantime, getting so wild, that he would have to be 
* broke "all over again! Torry's obstinate wisdom had 
over-shot the mark, this time, I was secretly certain — and, 
if I could only catch him at it, for once ! 



354 The Convalescent. 

Well, there came a certain sunny afternoon of a May 
day — a week after Torrey had himself sent for the Prince 
to shoe him. A debilitating fever and hemorrhage at the 
lungs had had their three weeks' will of me ; but, having 
been twice " out," upon the smart grey roadster that I had 
ridden all winter, I felt, for that afternoon at least, as iuex- 
horse-tible as ever; and the inspiriting air of such a deli- 
cious jubilee of spring was more in tune with the move- 
ments of the gay colt in the meadow. He was caught and 
saddled ; and (with some diflBculty, from his impatient 
fretting and ray weak limbs), I succeeded in mounting and 
getting away. Most exhilarating movement, as he pranced 
on, over the smooth windings of the road down the glen ! 
But, lo ! a bother unforeseen ! How was I to open that 
" pig'^'g''^^'' gate" — half a mile from the house and nobody 
within call ? I had usually, and with the same horse, 
leaned over and lifted the latch ; or, at any rate, in health, 
it was nothing to dismount for it — but how, noio to get it 
open? It was an exultingly satisfactory offset to my 
embargo, as I sat perplexed upon that fretting and dancing 
horse, that it was all owing to Torrey ! But for Torrey, I 
should have had the restless and impatient creature in 
training, six weeks ago, and could have opened the gate 
easily enough, sitting in my saddle ! 

There was nothing for it but to dismount, open the gate 
and let myself out, and then get on again — and this T did 



Experiences of Friendships. 355 

with no small calling upon dormant agilities and improbable 
dexterities, and a mental piling on of tbe emphasis with 
which I should overwhelm that mistaken blacksmith with 
my (for once) unanswerable reproaches! 

Not quite safe again in the saddle (remember that, oh, 
Torrey) ! I was leaning far over to adjust the stirrup to my 
still tremulous foot, when a man in an adjoining field 
(whom I had not observed, and who was gathering dry 
sticks in a thicket of sumachs), suddenly made a move with 
his crackling bundle. The Prince's head was towards the 
gate at the moment, but he sprang, as if he had been dis- 
charged fi'om a catapult — not an inch backwards or for- 
wards, but directly to one side, and /rom the side over 
which my whole weight was weakly and unguardedly bend- 
ing — and I was thrown to the ground in an instant. Away 
went the frightened creature, at a furious pace down the 
stony hill of tlie public road, dragging me after him by the 
right foot held tightly in the stirrup, and, fortunately before 
reaching the bridge, my twisted foot found its release — the 
impression with which I started from home, as to the light- 
footedness of the colt considerably changed ! With four 
imprints of his galloping hoofs on my legs and body, he had 
trod that mistaken idea quite out of me ! 

Of Torrey-ism and its consequences, I but copy the 
melancholy bandages around my legs, as I write down, for 
the student of the Science of Friendship, these actual statis- 



356 The Convalescent. 

tics. jy/5-Torrey-cal they deserve to be ! But contrast 
the tenderness (!) of such strains and bruises, for a moment 
with the very diflferent tenderness of my indulgent Morris ! 
When did any act of complying Morris-ism ever hitch me 
to a black horse and use me as a ploughshare on the public 
road ? My preference is, I think, justified — no offence, 
however, to my still valued and respected (though philoso- 
phically disparaged) Torrey ! I am more fortunate than 
most men in having two such tap-roots to my tree of 
friendship (a hy-two-men-ow^ nourishment which keeps me 
evergreen, of course) ! and, though I hope, myself, to con- 
tinue to profit by both indulgence and contradiction, I may 
have instructively recorded the contrast for those who can 
but choose between the two. And so, my dear Preference, 

I remain 

Yours as ever. 

Note. — The New York T-bnes, copying from the Newhurgh 

JVeivs a descriptive mention of this accident, adds a very courteous 

remark, to which (for the sake of making the public wiser upon a 

very important point of personal safety), I must make a somewhat 

• 
definite reply. The Times says : 

" Mr. Willis has given a good deal of very good public advice 
about riding, based on his own experience. We propose to return 
the service by advising him to procure and use a pair of Neil's 
Safety Stirrups, which would have rendered such an accident as he 
has now sustained impossible. The arrangement is very simple, 
effective, and ornamental. The moment the foot is caught, the 
pressure upon a lever of which the upper part of the stirrup forma 



' The Safety Stirrups. 35 1 

an arm, draws the pin, and drops the stirrup from the strap. Of 
course no horseman expects to be thrown — but Mr. Willis's expe- 
rience shows that such things may happen, and it is always best to 
be provided for contingencies. The safety stirrup is a very valu- 
able invention." 

I had a pair of these very stirrups on my saddle, when thrown, 
and though dragged some distance by the running horse, the stir- 
rup which held my right foot did not even finally give way. 
Though I thought my ankle was dislocated with the wrench, I was 
under the impression that the patent lever must have acted at last; 
and, while I sat at the road-side, I sent my daughter (who in tak- 
ing her afternoon walk, had chanced to see the accident, and assisted 
in picking me up), to go and look for the lost stirrup, feeling that 
it was impossible to use my trampled limbs, and that I must con- 
trive to get once more into the saddle, to reach home. The horse 
was by this time caught and brought back (by the neighbor whose 
bundle of sticks had frightened him), and, looking first to the two 
" safety stirrups," which were both firm in their places, I was 
assisted to remount my horse, and so reascended the long hill 
agaiin to my house. The fault of the invention (it seems to me) is, 
that the orifice of the stirrup is made smaller than usual (so that 
the lever shall be brought within reach of the falling rider's up- 
turning toe), and, if the foot, instead of upsetting vertically, turns 
ever so slightly cross-wise (as mine did, and as a falling man's foot 
is very likely to do), tJie toe catches the side, and is thus prevented 
from reaching the lever. A stirrup simply made so large that no 
twist of the forward part of the rider^s foot could get a hold upon 
the two sides at once, would, in my opinion, be a much safer 
thing. 



358 The Convalescent. 

With other editors I received a pair of "Neil's safety stirrups," 
and duly complimented the apparently excellent invention in the 
Home Joicrnal. I regret to unsay ray praises ; but, as I am 
probably the only editor who has made a fair experiment of the 
article, I have felt bound in duty to thus publish the result. 



LETTER XXXVII. 

Mouth made up for a Week's Feast on Physical Beauty— Journey to Springfield 
for the " Fair"— Miracles sold for cheap Tickets— Physiognomy of rural Mas- 
sachusetts — Energetic improvement of Springfield Street and Houses — Male 
Passions for Horse-talk— Promotion of Horse-dignity at Springfield— Descrip- 
tion of Races deferred, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, September, 
I LEFT home on the eleventh, as you know, for a week's pil- 
grimage to the shrine of physical beauty. It was a Mon- 
day morning of ripe and relishing September ; and, till the 
next Saturday night, my mouth was made up — the mouth 
of my outer eye, that is to say — for what banquets of flesh 
and blood I could find to feast upon. The Horse-Fair at 
Springfield, to be sure, was my main and nominal er- 
rand ; Chester Harding, the best painter of manly beauty 
as well as the noblest specimen of it, having bidden me to 
come and take a look with him at what Nature meant 
should be next below us in comeliness, the make and 

movement of 

" the noblest of the train 

That wait on man ;" 

but it was for physical perfection — beauty in all that is 
warm and breathing — that my eye was to be open — for 

859 



360 The Convalescent. 

the handsome man, who ought to be handsomer than his 
horse, and even for the degree still higher, the handsome 
woman, who should be handsomer than the man. Fancy 
and fiction I had shut up in my study closet. Intellectual- 
ities I had left to dry up with my inkstand. To sun my 
two open and idle eyes in animal beauty, was to be the 
carnival of the week — to find out what the real Hive worldy 
at its present day and hour, had beautiful to see. 

But, a word or two of my journey. 

There are few finer shows, I suppose, in the way of 
scenery, than the first twenty miles down the Sound, after 
roundino- Castle Garden in a Fall River steamboat. The 
receding city and the two shores of villas and gardens 
bathed in the glory of a sunset — seen, as it all is, from the 
swiftly floating palace in which you are borne like Jupiter 
in his cloud — comes nigh (if passengers did but know it) 
to an experience of the sublime. To be able to glide 
over just that magnificent track, at just that felicitous hour, 
by the " Fall-River Line," is, for the scenery hunter, a hap- 
py accident ; and the splendid comet that lighted us on 
our way was part of the performance, I suppose, though 
they did not (as for our gratuitous music on board the 
Powell in the morning) " pass round the hat." It was 
curious (I could not but mournfully remark) that, of the 
hundreds of passengers on board, not five seemed to see 
either the sunset scenery or the comet. For any better 



Miracles Sold for Cheap Tickets. 361 

heaven than the evening papers and their supper, those 
many fellow travellers of mine, I was sorry to be made 
sure, were in no way on the look-out. 

We slept through that still night, the moon and I, per- 
forming our respective journeys with as punctual swiftness 
as if we were awake ; and, at the breakfast hour, I found 
myself with the two hundred miles put magically behind 
me, safe in Boston by the operation of the miracles of 
steam and rail. And what miracles they are ! I must be 
excused for continuing to wonder at what we mortals get 
done for us by the purchase of a cheap little ticket at an 
office window ! 

Meaning to return, the day after the Fair, to the " city 
of notions," I passed but an hour or two in it, with a few 
whom I love ; and, early in the afternoon was on the rail 
for Springfield. The collections of tidy pill-boxes, on the 
way — each town with its sprinkling of painfully clean and 
square houses set up like stools of repentance in the mid- 
dle of the close-shaven farms — looked as agonizingly vir- 
tuous as they used to do when I saw them from the win- 
dows of the stage-coach on my way to college. The 
worldly railroad, as yet, had let in no corruptions of milder 
paint and more varied architecture. To go over the same 
pious ground so much faster was the only wonder. How 
is it that the held up forefingers of Massachusetts, those 
iwfully white meeting-house ste<^ples, give no monitory 

16 



362 The Convalescent. 

shake as sinners go by at such a profane, whipped-up-itude 
of speed — thirty headlong miles an hour instead of the 
well-considered five ? 

In driving from the railway station to my friend's 
house, I was quite puzzled with the new geography of 
Springfield. The graceful acclivities in the neighborhood 
of the old town are wound around with irregular streets, 
or rather with well-wooded serpentine avenues of tasteful 
cottages and villas ; the effect being very much that of a 
drive through Richmond, the prettiest suburban town in 
England. That some well directing spirit of great energy 
and good taste has been at work here, is visible also in 
the beauty of the grounds around the Public Armory, and 
particularly in the exquisite arrangement of the picturesque 
Cemetery near by. Springfield has some liberal and en- 
lightened hearts beating in its midst — anybody would say 
on simply driving through the town. How blest some 
places are in the influence of one or two of their inhab- 
itants ! 

Mr. King (Mr. Harding's son-in-law, who was to be ray 
more especial host) had collected around his table some 
of the well-informed strangers invited to the " Fair " from 
a distance ; and, as I found them over their coffee after 
dinner, I was soon an eager listener to the glowing themes 
of the place and the occasion. It is a bewitching yn-intel- 
lectuality — horse-talk ! The ladies must pardon us, but, 



Male Passion for Horse-talk. 363 

next to the adoring discussion of themselves, the most 
fascinating topic between gentlemen is horse-flesh. The 
points and performances of favorites; the experiences 
with driving-rein and saddle; the secrets of blood- crossing 
and quality-giving ; the choice in stock, action and color ; 
the bettering of grace and fleetness by union with endur- 
ance and strength — how charming are these game-y inter- 
changes of knowledge and observation ! Even if there 
are to be no horses in eternity (which I do not believe) 
the influence of this preponderating passion of mankind, 
even if it were only for its perfecting and elevating the 
abstract standard of beauty, would abundantly redeem it. 
Devotion to woman will make better angels of us, and 
devotion to horse will not be thrown away. 

It is the recognition of this last-mentioned principle 
which gave the impulse to the Horse Festival at Spring- 
field, The core of the movement is a philosophic wish to 
take a rational and exciting open-air pursuit from the 
hands of jockeys and gamblers, and elevate it to its proper 
level — to the healthful and inspiriting enjoyment of it by 
gentlemen and ladies. The starting-point — what the horse 
has been unjustly degraded to — is well expressed by a 
writer in the Boston Courier : 

" The name of the horse has, in America, become so in- 
timately associated with ever so much that is disreputable 



364 The Convalescent. 

and vulgar — horse-fanciers being popularly esteemed uni- 
versal scoundrels and black-legs, and horse-gatherings be- 
ing looked upon as invariable scenes of ' vice compacted, 
— that the innocent animal himself begins to be regarded 
with a sort of suspicion, by reason of his involuntary con- 
nection with so many human beasts of a lower order, and 
even the best regulated horse-fair fails to receive the atten- 
tion which the importance of its objects and its intrinsic 
interest should insure it." 

The horse's true rank in the scale of existence has now, 
at Springfield, received its first American recognition. 
But the subject is inex-horse-tible, I fear, or at any rate, 
too long for a single letter. I must defer, till next week, 
the description of my day at the races, and my look at all 
the beauties on the Course. And, meantime, dear Morris, 

Yours. 



LETTER XXXVIII. 

Second Letter— Taking the Opportunity to look through a "Wiser Man's Eyes — 
Drive to the Hippodrome — Visits to the Horses in their Stalls — Company of 
Good Observers — Horse " Hard-Times " and his Card— Beauty of the Peter- 
sham Morgan— Style of the Black Horse, " Lone Star "—Suitableness of Horse 
to his Rider — Perfecting of the Quadruped and Deteriorating of the Biped — 
Need of Reformation in the Shape and Condition of American Man — One 
Exception, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, September. 
Mr letter of last week gave you an outline of the journey- 
to Springfield, with a statement of the new and noble pur- 
pose of the Horse Festival, to be there held, and some 
hints as to why it promised to be especially memorable and 
interesting. I meant to have followed up this introductory 
letter with a full and detailed description of the whole 
afi'air ; but the newspapers have so completely anticipated 
me — treating it with cordial recognition as one of the 
leading topics of the day, reporting the very eloquent 
speeches at the banquet, and devoting column after column 
to the descriptive letters of their correspondents — that I 
follow, now, but as the sorry gleaner after the jolly harvest. 
Leaving the general features of the show, therefore, with 
which you are already familiar, I will gossip a little of 

865 



366 The Convalescent. 

what, during its celebration, I chanced personally to " hap- 
pen near." 

Under the same hospitable roof with myself, were 
several of the Committee's invited guests; and, among 
them a Canadian delegate, who, I soon saw, had a better 
eye than most men for a horse. Wishing to find precisely 
this — somebody's eye better than my own through which 
to look more wisely at the day's wonders of four-legged 
beauty — I made known my aching void to this gentleman, 
boldly proposing myself as his companion for the day. 
With the privilege of an official ribbon in his button-hole, 
he was to make the rounds of the stalls and stables — 
examining the beauties in their boudoirs at his lordly lei- 
sure, and without hindrance or contradiction from the 
duenna-grooms. As each horse had a separate apartment, 
with a lock on his door, and as grooms have not tho 
smoothest set of answers for those whom they are not par- 
ticularly bound to respect, I was very considerably 
enriched by Mr. W. 's acceptance of my proposition 

Early after breakfast we drove down to the Hippodrome. 
This fine Olympia (finer probably than the old one near 
Athens), is about a mile from Springfield, and has been 
purchased for the horse-movement, at a cost of near thirty 
thousand dollars. There is one course, of a mile, around 
its sixty acres of velvet turf, and on the outside of this, 
stand the stalls for two or three hundred horses, while, on 



Company of good Observers. 36t 

the opposite side are raised scaffoldings for many thousands 
of spectators. If it were only as a standard by which to 
measure the enterprise, the first impression which the stran- 
ger gets, on looking down upon this spacious and well laid 
arena, is very inspiring. 

As we passed in at the barrier, it was still an hour to 
the opening of the day's formal programme, and the long 
lines of stalls, with the grooms at the doors, looked partic- 
ularly inviting. My friend bent his steps that way, of 
course ; and, his ribbon being duly respected, we took the 
outer line of the forbidden beauties, and commenced our 
unblanketed beholdings. With the skillful eye of the Can- 
adian, and the well-practised eye of Harding the artist, 
who made one of our company; with the knowing com- 
ments of two or three other well-informed gentlemen who 
had joined us, and with my own most glowing admiration, 
the superb creatures were, for once in their lives, at least, 
duly appreciated. They should have been pleased with 
our visit, if beauty, lovingly approached and critically and 
glowingly analyzed and declared wonderful, could give 
pleasure to the animal who stood listening, and who, of 
course, was, at least, animally conscious of the strength, 
fire and proportion so admired. If it were a horse that 
had by chance learned to rejid, he might be staggered a 
little, it is true, by the card nailed upon his chamber door 
— a large lettered account of his age, pedigree and perform- 



368 The Convalescent. 

ances, of which each privileged admirer was allowed to 
carry away a printed copy. Thus runs one of these cards 
of beauty-biography, for instance, which I begged of the 
groom, after some ten minutes' study of a noble horse : 

V " Thorough-bred stallion, Hard-Times. Seven years old. 
^ired by Stavely, thorough-bred, out of imported mare- 
Favorite ; Favorite by English thorough-bred horse Eclipse ; 
Eclipse by Diomed, (see English Stud-book). Stavely 
was sired by Old Cock of the Rock, imported. 

"The dam of Hard-Times has trotted in 2.38. Hard- 
Times is thoroughly broken to every harness, and his speed 
when trained, will be very great. His style, beauty and 
action will speak for him better than words. 
" For sale and warranted in every respect." 

We walked into stall after stall, of the horses thus 
showily labelled, following up the promise of their noble 
haunches, measuring the knit of the loins and the lift of 
the forehand, feeling for the hard spot over the withers, 
(which is the certificate of blood), patting their proud 
necks and looking into their eyes and forehead for the 
intellect which should be there ; and I could not but feel 
that it was indeed — brute beasts though they were — a 
"feast of beauty." Even when standing still in the stall, 
the perfect creatures were beautiful enough ; but, when 
one was occasionally led out and put to his paces on the 
green turf, to show how he would move, it was, in most 
cases, worthy of sculpture. There was one particularly, 



Style of the Black Horse " Lone Star." 369 

in the efifervescence of completeness and youth, whose beauty, 
for that peculiar type, I had never seen equalled. His 
groom was leading him about by the bridle, and restrained 
hira with difficulty in the sight of the course. They 
called him the " Petersham Morgan " He was a richly 
dappled chestnut or dark bay, of a glossy coat, that, in its 
degree of silky fineness, was new to me ; and only unlike 
the horses of the Elgin Marbles in being far beyond what 
the sculptor of those antiques ever dreamed of. With the 
profuse mane and tail of the breed he belonged to, every 
hair on his body seemed to express pride, strength and fire ; 
and, with it all, was an eftbrtless and strange lightness of 
step, a sort of unnatural agility, which made the sward 
seem to be an electric battery tossing him off as his feet 
touched it. He was small, but a handsomer creature, of 
that style and weight, could scarce be imagined. 

A slender black horse, called " Lone Star," was also 
wonderfully perfect in his paces and proportions — the 
living prototype of disdainful and graceful beauty — and, 
for a woman to be lovely upon (leaving the horse to do 
the pride, in effective contrast with the gracious gentleness 
of his rider), " Lone Star " would be the model. In every 
different style of those superb animals, by the way, I saw 
the want of a particular size and style of rider ; and it is 
curious how little attention is paid commonly, by gentle- 
men, to the suitableness of the horses they ride — not only 

16* 



3*r0 The Convalescent. 

in proportionateness of height and weight, but in color and 
character of action. Brown, the equestrian sculptor, 
should give us a little manual on this subject. 

In this hour of stall-visiting and unblanketing, we found, 
of course, excellent stuff for comparison and discussion. 
The art of removing defects and ingrafting excellences was 
fullv discussed — " with illustrations " But the unaccount- 
able wonder is (to repeat a remark I have elsewhere made), 
that, with such an example under our own hand of what 
can be done to perfect one family of Nature, the horse, 
we are not stimulated to extend the experiment to another 
and more important family, that of man. I could not 
help looking round uj^on the crowd, in coming out from 
the stalls and stables of the carefully perfected quadruped, 
and lamenting exceedingly the undeveloped and carelessly 
neglected frame and health of his master the biped. Of 
the hundreds on the field, within sight, there was scarce 
one who would not have been pronounced, by a jockey, an 
animal out of condition. They all looked as if they would 
need two or three generations of crossing with other quali- 
ties and complexions, and years of more careful training, 
feeding and exercising, for the restoration even of their 
own original type. Is not our country fatally degenerat- 
ing on this point? And, since it is of the condescending 
bounty of God that we are " made in his own image," 
would it not partake of the character of a religious reforma- 



Driving of a Fast Hoese by a Child. 3U 

tion, to restore to its proper dignity the image of God — in 
ourselves ? Conversing- with Governor Banks on tlie sub- 
ject, that evening (himself a capital specimen of the 
Morgan build, pluck and endurance), I inquired whether 
it could not be made a matter of State encourao-ement — 
premiums to be offered for the finest formed and best con- 
ditioned families of boys and girls, among the mechanics 
and farmers. It might, at least, make health a consideration, 
if not a condition, in wedlock and its perpetuating of races. 

I should be unjust to a very striking exception, if I did 
not mention here, that, quite the finest horseman on the 
ground, that day, was a white-haired gentleman, apparently 
of seventy years of age, mounted upon a very handsome 
bay, and sitting as upright and riding about the field as 
actively and securely as a man of twenty. I did not hear 
who he was, but he was a fine picture to look at, and the 
admiration of him, among the crowd, was universal. 

And I may as well record that the next most admired 
performance on the ground, that da}'', was the driving of a 
fast horse by a child ! The animal (a mare, called 
"Belle") was among the competitors for the trotting pre- 
mium, and quite the most showy and fiery-looking of the 
dozen brought up at the start. The first mile was for a 
display of the " teams ;" and Mr. Ellis, the father of the 
lad, accompanied him on this circuit — to the exceeding 
terror of all the ladies on the stand, dismounting at the 



372 The Convalescent. 

close of it, and leaving the handsome little fellow alone in 
the trottinsr-waofon, for the round which was to be a trial 
of speed. And away they all went, at a slashing pace ; 
the "Belle" gallantly holding her own, and probably every 
eye among the twenty thousand spectators fixed on her 
infant driver. With his little hands stretched forward to 
the reins, his feet braced against the dash-board, his head 
laid far back to the cushion, and his cap pulled knowingly 
on one side, he looked more like one of Titania's mischiev- 
ous elves than the honest thing he was — a live young gen 
tleman of Cambridge, ten years old ! But his coming in 
was the excitement ; for, to all appearance, the superb ani- 
mal was wholly beyond control ; and, as he reached the 
Judges'-stand, among the foremost though not the first, the 
multitude was quite breathless. It seemed inevitable that, 
in the endeavor to stop her, she would break up and run. 
But the little driver began bravely to saw upon the bit, 
pulling with his whole strength upon one rein and the 
other, and to the screaming delight of the ladies, the 
" Belle " was pulled up ! Young Ellis turned and came 
back to the stand — received with the most enthusiastic 
hurrahs by his twenty thousand admirers. And — charm- 
ing to add — the little hero stood up on his feet, as he 
dropped the reins, took off his hat, and made a circular 
bow to the crowd with a grace that would have done credit 
to a courtier. 



Young America a little too " Fast." 3t3 

But for the fact that the best horseman on the field was an 
old gentleman of seventy — (showing the possibility of vigor 
and skill at the other extreme as well) — this might have 
been called Young America a little too " fast !" 

But I must have the room of another letter, I believe, to 
tell you of the trotting-races and cavalcades, with the lady- 
riders and driving-teams, etc., etc., so adieu for the pre- 
sent. Yours. 



LETTER XXXIX. 

The Hippodrome on the Second Day — The Trotting-match — The Aspect of the 
Crowd on the Course— Ethan Allen and Iliram Drew — Philosophy of fast Trot- 
ting — Portrait of a famous Yankee Jockey — Cavalcade of Gentlemen's equip- 
ages — Lack of Style in American Driving — Society on Wheels and Beauty of a 
Park Drive — The Equestrian Cavalcade with Lady-riders — Unsuitableness of 
Crinoline to the Side-saddle, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, October. 
You are willing now, perhaps, to leave the private stalls 
of horse-beaut}', and cross with me to the other side of the 
Couise for a performance or two by the celebrated trot- 
ters. The ribbon of my Canadian friend and guide took 
me (on the way) within the folds of a certain privileged 
tent, pitched on the greensward within the ring, where, 
for committee and guests, was spread an inviting array of 
dry crackers and their naturally suggested lubrications ; 
and having thus administered a tonic to our emulous an- 
tagonist, we passed on to the contest. 

Twenty thousand people out of doors are a beautiful 
show, anywhere ! And when you remember that the 
superb hippodrome of Springfield is in the lap of a velvet 
meadow, on the banks of the Connecticut and with Mount 

S74 



Ethan Allen and Hiram Drew. 315 

Tom and its wavy outline of horizon forming the back- 
ground, you will easily picture to yourself the beauty of 
" Hampden Park " and its gay multitude. It was the pe- 
culiarity of this gathering, you understand, that ladies and 
the clergy were fully represented ; and, as the large pro- 
portion of two-thirds of the immense length of scaffoldings 
was alive with the glitter of gay ribbons and parasols, 
while, upon the judges' stand, the white cravats of New 
England's ministers gleamed thickly bright, the impres- 
sion — splendid horses and showy equipages included — 
was brilliantly new. I was, for one, charmed to see the 
best quality of horse in such fitting quality of service — vir- 
tue and religion, for once, equipaged beseemingly. 

The excitement of the morning, I soon found, was to be 
the trotting-match between Ethan Allen and Hiram 
Drew — the " knowing ones" predicting that the latter 
would win, though the former was more famous for pre- 
vious victories. Hating the build of a trotting-sulky (with 
a driver looking as if his spine was screwed into the axle- 
tree — a man with wheels put to him), I saw the start with 
no particular interest. The fast trot, too, has always 
seemed to me an unnatural gait. Most horses do it with- 
out grace, and the most famous winners, in this particular 
kind of pace, are those whose instinct — that of breaking 
into a gallop with the increase of speed — has been most 
artificially untaught. Its superiority, besides, depends 



376 The Convalescent. 

mucli on what amounts to a deformity — the down-hill 
slope of the hind quarters, and an unnatural spread 
of the thighs so that the hinder hoofs will fling past 
with greater length of step — and a fast trotter, conse- 
quently, is, in most cases, neither graceful nor naturally 
stylish. 

To all this, Ethan Allen, to my very great surprise, 
proved to be an exception. He was a gracefully formed, 
dark bay ; and, instead of making a double effort, as most 
trotting-horses do (as if the hind quarters were worked by 
different volitions of the nervous system), he strode it off 
with a most beautiful oneness of movement, his head up, 
like a creature unpressed and taking it easy, and his whole 
form and action, when he was at top speed, suitable 
for a graceful ideal. The papers have recorded how fine- 
ly he was the winner, in this well-contested race, and I 
thought he was a horse to be admired altogether. 

Trotting (as Louis Napoleon seems admiringly to have 
discovered) is an Americanism; and though, in Ethan 
Allen, as a fine specimen of it, a foreigner would have been 
very much interested, he would have been still more curi- 
ously interested, I am inclined to think, in the utter Ameri- 
canism of his driver ! I had studied this man with some 
curiosity at the stables, where he was superintending the 
preparation of the one or two horses under his gockeysliip 
for the dav, and I must venture to wonder that Mr. Ten- 



Portrait of a famous Yankee Jockey. 37 T 

Broeck should have entered upon the arena of the English 
Turf, without Hiram Mace (this jockey's name, I believe) 
for rider and right-hand man. As everybody knov^s, the 
most common and every-day type of Yankee (the solemn 
and painful sharp) is not the smartest. Mr. Mace, though 
of a vigilant wide-awake-ness that could never be taken by 
surprise, was apparently of the most merry and careless oflf- 
handedness. One of the gentlemen of our party chanced 
to be a man of fortune and distinguished family, from the 
same town, and an acquaintance of Hiram's ; and I could 
not but be struck with the hair-line suitableness with 
which the jockey responded to the salutation of one who 
was a man of his own age, and whom he had the daily 
habit, at home, of considering an aristocrat. With abso- 
lute self-possession, and with the smile of his merry good- 
humor hardly interrupted for those around, he was still 
courteous in his manner to this gentleman, and, in his 
replies to one or two professional questions, most pithily 
frank and sensible. His features are very finely cut, and, 
but for the exceeding keenness and resoluteness of his 
small grey eye, he would be ahnost too handsome and 
delicate to look formidable either in fight or bargain — but 
he is anybody's match, as is well known, in either. With a 
frame very slight, he is closely knit and symmetrica], and 
of a wiry vigor of activity, shown most admirably in the 
races which he rode afterwards in the saddle. I must 



378 The Convalescent. 

own that I took a great fancy to " Hiram Mace." He is 
one of the few instances I have seen of that incongruous 
mixture, the natural nobleman and the keenest kind of 
Yankee. 

After the trotting-match, followed the portion of the 
day's show which was newest, and which I thought par- 
ticularly commendable — the cavalcade of gentleinen's equi- 
pages around the course. There were not so many as 
there will be when this competition for a premium is better 
understood, and when the facility of sending horses and 
vehicles by railroad to distant points is a little improved 
upon ; but the display was still creditable. One four-in- 
hand excited considerable interest, the whole team — (their 
united ages amounting to one hundred and five years) — 
being: a remarkable instance of handsome carriao^e-horses 
kindly and carefully preserved. It was a timely and 
expressive exponent of Rarey's new principle of mercy to 
the animal ; and, aptly enough, the name of the owner 
seated upon the driving-box, was Cordis — making it in 
hearsay as well as in fact the team of the heart. There 
were several superb pairs of horses in private vehicles ; yet 
I could not but lament the drawback which the gentleman 
commonly made to his own " turn-out," the beauty and 
performance of the animals put sadly out of harmony by 
the lack of style in the driver ! Those of our young men 
who go abroad would do well to pass an occasional after- 



Society on Wheels. 3T9 

noon in Hyde Park, where they will see, by the driving of 
the phaeton, the curricle and the hunting-wagon, by the 
well-bred owners, that to be a stylish " whip " is a part of 
a gentleman's accomplishments. The posture, the holding 
of the whip and reins, and the nice control of the horses, 
mouths by the well-fingered " ribbons," are all matters of 
tasteful study ; and the style of an equipage is often much 
more indebted to the way it is driven than to the costliness 
of vehicle or harness. I am lookinor forward to the inauo-u- 
ration of our new Park in New York, as the introduction 
to America of that society on wheels which is so delightful 
in London, and which, of course, will call attention to the 
accomplishment of well-bred driving. For the many who 
have equipages, this kisd of daily resort is a most agree- 
able blending of the luxury of fresh air and change of scene 
with the social intercourse of exchanged greetings and 
inquiries, the refreshing of memories and the making of 
engagements. The few minutes of conversation from one ve- 
hicle to another, as they meet and stopped; the riding along- 
side of the ladies' carriages by gentlemen on horseback ; 
the opportunity for well-appointed and well-attended dis- 
plays of out-door toilette and style ; these are attractive 
additions to social convenience and social refinement. 
Every city would be more agreeable for some such well- 
frequented drive, handsomely laid out, where the stranger 
would be sure, at certain hours, to meet the equipages of 



380 The Convalescent. 

the wealthier classes. As luxury is inevitable in our pros- 
perous land, let us, at least, do it in becoming style and 
taste ! 

The equestrian cavalcade, graced by the company and 
spirited riding of two young ladies, was another most 
attractive feature of the day's show. As the band was 
playing very delightfully for the twenty thousand specta- 
tors meantime, it was not wonderful that the performance 
of one beautiful little palfrey, who pranced and kept time 
exactly to the music, should have received the greatest por- 
tion of the applause. But oh, the unsuitableness of every 
degree of petticoat balloonification to the action of a horse ! 
Will the ladies pardon me if I venture to suggest that all 
equestrian drapery, for tliem, should follow the figure, in 
unrestrained fold and flow ? Nothing could well produce 
an effect more inelegant than the inharmonious jerking up 
of a separately elastic inflation of the lady's dress, out of 
all time with the rise and fall of her own fissure and move- 
raent. Prettier on horseback than in any other exercise, 
as woman certainly is, it seems a pity that her costume and 
equipment for the saddle should not continue to be artisti- 
cally graceful — unafi"ected by the caprices of dress for 
other times and places. The bewitchingly becoming " Die 
Vernon hat and plume" still hold their place, I am happy 
to see. 

Anticipating another day of these charming exhibitions, 



I TAKE THE RaIL-CAR BOUND TO BoSTON. 381 

I left the ground early — saving strength and spirits, too, 
for the committee's evening hospitalities — but it was the 
last of the show for me. A rain set in at midnight, which 
turned, the next day, into a flood ; and I exchanged the 
very wet out-door promises of Springfield for the dry inside 
of the rail-car bound to Boston. The dear old town 
received me with one of the most glowing and beautiful 
of the old-fashioned sunsets I so well remembered in my 
boyhood, and — but it would take another letter to tell you 
of my next day's pleasures. 

Yours as always. 



TRIP TO THE RAPPAIIAl^NOCK. 



LETTER I . 

Unceremonious Departure — The Journey South — Glimpse of the Susquehanna 
— Cloudless Welcome to Virginia — Digression to narrate a Story — Saw-Mill in 
the Woods — A Hoist into the Air unexpectedly — The Miller and the Interior 
of his Hut — His Death, that Night — The Scene of his Laying-out — Who he was 
etc., etc. 

Idlewild, November. 
My sudden acceptance of a proposal to make one in a 
party bound on a ten-days' trip to Virginia, and my flitting 
off without saying good bye to you (except by lifting my 
hat for your blessing as I flew past Undercliff in the cars), 
was, if you please, less considerate than usual. Before 
leaving you alone to " abide the issue," (of two numbers of 
the Home Journal), I should have waited till the alternate 
day, when, by your coming to town, we could have sat in 
council over our mutual inkstand. The " copy-drawer " is a 
sacred obligation ! .But, for a like offence, you had oft for- 
given me before. And, remember the tempting rareness 
of the occasion — Virginia in the distance, and such fitting 

888 



384 The Convalescent. 

companionship as two of the old-school gentlemen, for a 
first sight of the Old Dominion ! Then summer, you 
know, like a superior woman, is often loveliest when a little 
passe^ and I longed to fellow it southward in its decline — 
to see the home of Pocahontas (as it should be seen), 
steeped in the thoughtful and calm beauty of the " Indian 
Summer." 

Our journey, by steam and rail, to the mouth of the 
Rappahannock, was a very interesting one to me ; but the 
mention of its agreeable points — of Philadelphia and Bal- 
timore particularly, which I us&i to know so well, but 
which I had not visited for ten or twelve years — I will 
defer, till, in another letter, I come to our return. The 
most unchanged things, of course, were the rivers that we 
crossed ; and it was not without the tearful greeting of a 
look at an old friend, that I gave a glance, in passing, at 
the memory-freighted course of the Susquehanna — the be- 
loved stream on whose windings I had once enjoyed a few 
world-forgetting years, blest in what would have been 
called, by the Barons of the Middle Ages, " the truce of 
God." Tell me, dear old river ! — run all your tributaries 
yet? — and of the bright waves that I saw, was there per- 
chance a drop, that as it passed under the bridge at Glen- 
mary, had helped make the music I once knew ? 

We found the Chesapeake rather stormy, and in crossing 
the mouth of the Potomac, there was so high a sea, by the 



Tkip to the Rappahannock. 385 

meeting of strong wind and strong tide in opposition, that 
our little steamer might have believed herself in mid-ocean. 
Fortunately it was in the night, and there was (for me at 
least) a lullab}'' in the rocking ; and as we rounded into 
the entrance of the Rappahannock, the next morning, I 
was rejoiced to see from the window of my state-room, 
that Virginia gave us the welcome that we wanted — a bright 
sun and a sky without a cloud. 

As this is to be another of my " one-leg letters " written 
sians in una pede, or with one wet of the pen — I will re- 
serve my first impression of the " Old Dominion " till I 
can limn it more carefully, and give you instead, an iso- 
lated incident of our second day's travel in the inte- 
rior. It may prove, very possibly, the first news of the 
death of one you knew ; for, of our large parish of the be- 
paragraphed, he was one of whom I havo many a time 
made mention, and your own kind quill, I venture to say, 
has, ere now, called the public to admire him. 

But, to my story. 

Driving through the pine forest, some eight or ten miles 
back from the landing-place of Urbana — a spot made his- 
torical by its neighborhood to the burial-place of Wash- 
in niton's mother and her kin — we came to a stream called 
Moratico Creek, on which stood a saw-mill, of which my 
practical companions wished to see the operation. More in- 
terested, myself, iu a problem of negro contrivance, which I 

It 



386 The Convalescent. 

saw about to be performed — the unloading of an immense 
trunk of a tree from a cumbrous ox-drag — T stayed by the 
road-side to look on. The wheels were very high, and as 
the enormous oak was to be pried first from the hinder axle 
when the forward one should be drawn away by the cat- 
tle, the small negro lad who applied the lever looked unequal 
to the task. In fact, the long end of the pry-stick was 
beginning to quiver with the first stir of the oxen, when, 
remembering that ray own one hundred and forty-five 
pounds stood by unemployed, T jumped upon the pole as 
near as possible to the clutch of the slender negro, 
and, with the weight of the fallen log, was immediately 
hoisted with him into the air — coming safely down again, 
with a slight tumble in the sand ; but, as I looked at the 
lad's innocent black face, hoping I might never leave the 
earth in worse company ! He thanked me very politely, 
as he scratched his head over our mutual escape, and, as 
the other end of the timber was dislodged by the move- 
ment forward, he followed the loosened oxen up the road. 

I mention this as the probable prompting to a civility on 
the part of the miller — a very sickly, grave, incommu- 
nicative-looking man, who crossed over from the tumble- 
down shanty under which his rough machinery was doing 
its work, and, applying a key to the padlock of a stone 
hut near by, invited me in. The single room was of wig- 
wam size and proportions, and the furnitnre consisted of 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 887 

one long rude bench, a few ragged bed-clothes bundled up 
in the corner, a tea-kettle, one plate, knife and fork, and a 
broken frying-pan. A gun stood in the corner, and on the 
floor lay a wild duck, which had been shot that morning 
on the mill-pond. A question as to the number of kinds 
of this bird so plentiful in the region round about (of 
which he said there were thirty, naminof, amonof others, 
the blue-wing, the canvas-back, the dipper, the black- 
duck, the ball-coot, the butter-duck, the summer-duck, the 
red-head, and the mallard), led to a conversation as to the 
climate, etc., etc., and I was very much struck with the 
quiet justness of his remarks, and their phraseology, and 
"withal, a knowledge of the world which is only got com- 
monly by much travel and observation. Under his 
slouched hat was a physiognomy very nobly cut ; and his 
frame, spite of his heavy and tattered clothes, showed the 
very finest of herculean proportions. I took a very great 
fancy to my new friend as we sat over the smouldering logs 
of his huge fireplace, and speculated not a little as to his 
probable history. And who do you suppose he was? No 
less a person than McKnight, the once famous Hercules of 
"Turner's Circus," who, some years ago, used to astonish 
the world by resisting with his own legs and arms the pull 
of four horses, letting a forty-two pounder be discharged 
upon his breast, lifting unheard-of weights, and many sim- 
ilar wonders of skill and strength. In one of these horse- 



388 The Convalescent. 

encounters he had strained some vital portion of his loins, 
and bad come to Virginia to go into sickly retirement as 
the overseer of a saw-mill. 

But the sight of that magnificently moulded man, as he 
lay stretched, the next morning, on the rough bench where 
we had sat and conversed (for as we passed, on our return, 
we learned that he had died, a few hours after we had left 
him), was the impressive picture in which these introduc- 
tory remarks will explain my peculiar interest. 

Think a moment of the poetry — I may even say the sub- 
limity — of such a scene ! 

The saw-mill, half in ruins, stood in the heart of an over- 
grown pine wilderness ; the winding road, for miles on 
either side, seeming, to the traveller, like the interminable 
aisles of a tall-columned and dim-lio^hted cathedral. With 
the death of the miller the wheel had stopped, and the 
absolute hush was deepened by the unruffled stillness of the 
large pond, which reflected, like the reality itself, the over- 
hanging woods inclosing it — one single sign of life alone 
visible, the pull of a caught fish upon the dead man's pole, 
which, with its baited hook and line, he had left stuck in 
the timbers of the bridge ! It was a day of Indian sum- 
mer, without a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind ; and 
the intense light which struggled down through the tops of 
the immense trees, looked, amid the deep shade, like the 
sharp edged fragments of a broken mirror. 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 389 

And amid these eflfective surroundings stood the old 
stone hut, with its door open and its fire gone out, and, on 
its long slender bench of rough plank, the body of the one 
hermit-like tenant — his teams and their black drivers 
remaining for that day at their more remote homes, and he 
lying cold and alone in the solitude of the wilderness ! 

My friends, like myself, were struck with the exceeding 
nobleness and beauty of the dead man's features as he lay 
asleep. The clear sallovvness of the skin gave the face the 
aspect of ancient marble, and the projecting forehead, the 
finely chiselled nose with its expanded nostrils, and the firm 
and well-cut lips below, aided in producing the efiect of 
some admirable conception of statuary — the homely circum- 
stances of the laying out, in that rude and desolate-looking 
hut, added not a little to its impressiveness. And then the 
heisfht and breadth of the enormous chest of the dead man, 
as he lay on his back, clad only in his torn shirt and rough 
trowsers, his feet tied together with a coarse rope, and 
his hands crossed carelessly upon his breast, completed a 
picture, which, accidentally as it formed part of the sights 
upon the road in a day's journey, will hereafter be one of 
the most vivid in my recollection. 

McKnight, if I was rightly informed, was a Rhode Island 
man, and has left a wife from whom he had been separated 
some years. As he was living here in apparently forgotten 
obscurity and seclusion, it is possible that this may carry, 



390 The Convalescent. 

to his family also, the first news of his death — the result, I 

should state, of suffocation in the congestion of fever). And 

so ended the life of a man who was gifted with points of 

superiority, which, to a knight in the days of chivalry, 

would have been an inheritance no gold could outweigh. 

That he was well endowed, also, in disposition and natural 

powers of mind, I should presume, from his countenance, 

the formation of his head, and his conversation. Peace to 

his manes ! 

My letter, with this chance story, has attained its length, 

I believe. 

Yours always. 



LETTER II. 

First Experience of eating a Persimmon— Suggestion as to Nature's Symbol for 
Secrecy— Chance for Cheap Living in " Ole Virginny "—Instance of Oblivious 
Life— What Good Blood may stagnate down to— Fight with the Guardian 
Dog— Interior of a Reduced Gentleman's Residence— Dried Apples produced 
— Mrs. X. as seen through her Dirt— Virginia Lack of Yankee Curiosity, etc. 

Idlewild, December. 
Of the few days we passed in Virginia I can give no very 
connected chronicle. The especial errand of my compan- 
ions being a business visit to various extensive woodlands 
in the interior, we necessarily turned often upon our path, 
and zigzagged from the beaten track very irregularly. With, 
fortunately, the very finest of autumnal weather, we were 
continually on the move — drove about a great deal and 
saw a great deal. Of course the least interesting things to 
write about are the splendors and prosperities of a country ; 
so, of the noble old mansions and cultivated estates which 
were pointed out to us on the distant hills, and on the 
eminences along the banks of the river, I shall say nothing. 
My pencilled notes are only of the exceptions and eccentri- 
cities we were called to see or fall in with, and of the differ- 
ences of character and manner consequent upon differences 
of latitude, habits and means of life. Please have your 

891 



392 The Convalescent. 

indulgence ready, therefore, for only a mosaic of discon- 
nected fragments. 

One of the first of my Virginia experiences was the 
very new sensation of eating a persimmon. By its frequent 
mention in negro songs, this fruit has become classic, and I 
was as interested, in tasting it, as the traveller of Italy 
with his first pluck at a ripe fig. It resembles a small 
apple, as seen hanging upon the leafless twig, though the 
tree grows taller and with more spready branches than an 
apple-tree. There were plenty of them in the fields, as we 
drove past the corn-plantations in the open country, and 
our friend and conductor kindly jumped over the rail fence 
and brought me a handful. What this fruit can especially 
be intended for, by nature, I am a little embarrassed to 
understand — possibly to close the gate after enough has 
entered — for, of all the contractile agents, this seems to me 
the most pucker-y and unrelaxing. The mouth and lips 
are drawn so obstinately together, by eating a persimmon, 
that it would be difficult to follow it, even with " a drink ;" 
though I am not sure that all its efiects are so preventive, 
as the traveller, for the next mile or two after the taste of 
it, looks very much as if getting ready for a kiss — a kiss, 
however, of which, till the lips relax, the secret is very sure 
to be kept ! Now, why would not a persimmon-tree 
stamped upon note paper, or graven on a seal, be a pretty 
hieroglyphic for secrecy ? x\nd why would not a persim- 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 393 

mon-kiss (so called from this sweet lesson of nature to " kiss 
but never tell "), be a very bandy phrase for common 
usage ? 

According to the statistics we incidentally picked up, 
this part of the Old Dominion which is most famous in his- 
tory may now be the cheapest spot of the world to live in. 
It is common to let a log house to a man for eight dollars 
a year, with " as much land as he likes " thrown in to the 
bargain. Wood is so over abundant that there is, to a cer- 
tain degree, no property in it, any man feeling at liberty to 
take, anywhere, what he requires for his own fuel. Of deer 
and wild game of all kinds there is great plenty. The 
highest price for a fat turkey or goose is fifty cents, of a 
wild duck one shilling, of corn meal but a trifle more than 
the cost of graining. Oysters thrive so plentifully in the 
creeks and bays that the poorest man can have his fill of 
them. Cows sell for five dollars apiece. Land can be 
bou2:ht for from one to three dollars an acre. With the 
half century of swoon or syncope which the State industry 
has had (from the general impression that the soil was 
exhausted), nature has had time to relift her primitive 
woods and repeople them with what is wild, and to repro- 
duce such luxuries as come without the art of man. The 
trees, meantime, have been making their yearly returns of 
vegetative matter — the wilderness covered thick with a 
compost of pine-tassels and dead leaves. The climate 

n* 



394 The Convalescent. 

(with proper precautions against intermiltents where the 
land lies low), is very healthy, the scenery beautifully 
varied, and picturesque, and — the associations are of his 
spirit whose home it was ! Washhigton lived there. Con- 
sidering how near such a region is to New York, and 
how accessible it is by water and railway, it is wonderful 
that it is not overrun and settled again by a general stam- 
pede of the great army of the unemployed in our large 
cities. 

But, let me add, by way of contrast, to this tempting 
picture, a passing view that I chanced to get, of what 
" good blood " may stagnate down to, in corners where 
enterprise and progress have been long forgotten. 

In conversation with a gentleman whom we met, as to 
the decay of families with great names, he mentioned a 
neighbor of his, byway of illustration ; and, on my express- 
ing a curiosity to see so marked an instance of oblivious 
life, he kindly offered, while my companions were called 
elsewhere, to be my guide as well as to furnish the excuse 
for a visit. Of course, in describing an incident of this 
kind, I can give neither place nor name, so I will merely 
designate the object of our curiosity as Mr. X., and my 
obliging guide as Mr. A. 

Furnishing ourselves with sticks as a defence against the 
savage dogs that were known to guard the premises, wo 
left the public road and took our way across several 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 395 

rudely fenced lots, the only access to his dwelling being by 

thus climbinof the rails and strikino- a bee-line for the dis- 
cs o 

tant chimney. Of the old family estate we were thus 
crossing, and which consisted of a hundred acres or more, 
no reasonable sum would probably buy any portion. The 
present tenant and holder of the name (one of the most 
aristocratic) manages, after his fashion, to live upon it ; and 
all he wants, of the remainder of creation, is to sell just so 
much, of the yearly produce of the estate, as will furnish 
him with what he requires of the un-get-for-nothing-ables 
of life — coffee, sugar, whisky, etc., etc. 

Coming first to a tottering old moss-covered barn, we 
rounded one of its leaning corners, and, in the cow-yard 
beyond, stood a ragged little dried-up man, of perhaps fifty 
years of age, with his hands in his pockets, looking on 
while a couple of negroes counted out some potatoes. He 
hardly gave us a glance over his shoulder as he sluggishly 
returned our salutation ; but, on Mr. A.'s inquiring whether 
Mrs. X. had any dried apples to spare (which my friend 
knew was her bank of pin-money, and which he had made 
our ostensible errand, so as to get a sight of the interior), 
we were briefly told that we should find her at the house ; 
the slow eyes, perfectly satisfied with this half-look at his 
neighbor, returning them to the potato-heap. 

There had once been a mansion on the place, if I under- 
stood rightly, but it had long ago tumbled down and 



396 The Convalescent. 

served for " kindling." There were no signs of it remaining 
— or none, at any rate, that our fight with a large, black 
dog, as we neared the smoking chimney, allowed us time to 
observe. The hut that we were now approaching was one 
of three or four, standing together, and built of logs, plas- 
tered in the crevices with mud. It was originally, proba- 
bly, one of the slave-cabins of the estate. The door was 
open, and, as it served also for the only window, the 
picture within was at first rather imperfect. I could see, 
however, that a woman sat upon her heels in the middle 
of the floor, and, as my friend reached the threshold, she 
said " walk in," — not rising, however, and going quietly on 
with her task of sorting a heap of vegetables which lay 
before her. 

By the time I had looked around for a seat (for, from 
the lowness of the roof, I could not stand upright), the old 
man had followed us in ; and, as he stirred up the smoulder- 
ing logs, in a fireplace which occupied one whole side of 
the hut, I began to see more clearly. An old-fashioned 
brass-mounted cabinet bureau, with a sloping top, two or 
three remainders of chairs, and a cofiee-mill nailed on to 
the inside of the fireplace, were all the furniture visible ; 
the double-bed in the corner being only a bundle of rags, 
and a rough board bench near the door, holding a most 
unclean variety of cooking utensils. Up against the wall, 
near the head of the bed, was a pile of cabbages, and there 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 39T 

were two or three separate heaps of potatoes and turnips 
Ivino: around, from which it seemed to be the old woman's 
task of the afternoon to make an assortment. One lifted 
board of the floor showed a hole, two or three feet deep, 
and into this she emptied her basket from time to time, 
without rising from her squatting posture. Hers seemed to 
be all the energy of the establishment ; for, as she repeated 
her commands to the old man to go out and bring in an 
armful of pine-tassels to overlay the vegetables in the hole, 
his remonstrative "look year child !" (the word here, south 
of a certain latitude, being commonly pronounced like 
year), and his lingering unwillingness to leave the fire 
were very expressive. " You never was year before ?" 
he said to me, as he gave me a most uninquisitive look, in 
passing out upon his errand. 

With the opening of the subject of dried apples, Mrs. X. 
rose for the first time to her feet, and I saw that she was 
quite a tall, straight woman, of perhaps forty years of age. 
She walked to the bed and pulled up' the coverlet, drew 
out a long, dirty meal-bag, untied the mouth of it, and, 
producing a handful of the commodity, offered us a taste. 
Had the first apple been presented by so unclean a hand, 
our first parent, I venture to say, would never have fallen ! 
Yet, as she held out the dirty fingers to me, she stood 
facing the door, where I could see her very distinctly, and 
I was surprised to see how fine were her features and how 



398 The Convalescent. 

large and really beautiful were her eyes. The look of a 
" born lady " was unmistakable. But the dirt on that 
well-moulded face was in cracks and seams, and it was evi- 
dent that water was habitually a stranger to it ! She had 
a quilted hood of greasy-looking brown calico tied under 
ber chin, and a high-necked dress made of a sort of tow- 
cloth, which looked as if it might have been for years the 
cold-victual bag of a beggar. And with all this disfiguring 
drapery and dirt, I could not but be impressed with the 
entire absence of plebeianism in her air. Taken and un- 
Herculaneumed from her dirt, put through a Turkish sham- 
pooning or two, dressed like a duchess, and standing just 
as she stood when handing me those dried apples, she 
would have looked the title 1 The withered face of the 
dry little old man, also, showed features that had once been 
regular and delicate, though they were ludicrously carica- 
tured by the narrow-rimmed hat which he wore — a dress 
beaver which had been gradually razeed till it was about 
the depth of a soup-plate, while the top, sewed in with 
coarse thread, let his hair through at the cracks. His 
other clothes seemed to have been condemned to be worn 
till they should rot off, and were very near the end of 
their purgatory. 

We left the hovel at the close of a bargain, between my 
friend and the old woman, for "a bushel and a half — all 
she thought she could spare," though she hailed us before 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 399 

we had got out of hearing, to say that she " didn't know 
but she could make up her mind to two bushels if he 
would send for them the next morning." And so live two 
well-born human beings, who by no means think them- 
selves poor, but who have gradually forgotten the world 
and its artificial wants and usuages, till they positively 
prefer to thus burrow in the dirt — perfectly contented, too, 
with their worse than brute animal condition ! As I said 
before, it is a picture of what " good blood " can stagnate 
down to, which is worth recording for the philosophy on 
human life. 

One other sign we saw of this opiate in Virginia air — 
(the lotus-eating effect, perhaps, of the tobacco principle on 
its native soil) — and I mention it as a curious contrast to 
our Yankee wide-awakeness and curiosity. Soon after the 
steamer's entrance into the Rappahannock, somewhere 
about eio'ht o'clock in the mornina;, we came to the first 
landing — a solitary pier running out from a very lonely 
spot on the river bank, and with only one shanty in sight 
and one human being. There were some goods to be 
landed and a passenger or two ; and, as a steamboat makes 
its appearance at that point but twice a week, one would 
naturally suppose its arrival to be something of an event. 
Yet the one visible inhabitant, a white man at work on the 
beach near by, hewing at a " dug-out," or log canoe, with 
his axe, never looked around ! I watched him for a few 



400 The Convalescent. 

minutes at first, for I was interested in seeing a piece of 
work so new to me ; and when one of my companions 
remarked the man's lack of rustic curiosity, I waited to 
see whether he would not give us at least a parting look. 
As the rope was cast ofi*, a boy came to the edge of the 
sand bank and called him to breakfast ; upon which he 
quietly laid down his axe and walked slowly up the road, 
turning his back to the departing boat without even a look 
over his shoulder. Such 2.poco curante, I presume, could 
hardly be found, at any steamboat-landing on the Hudson. 
With my delay over these eccentricities, of our chance 
picking up, I have not yet got fairly into my subject; but 
I hope to find myself in *' Ole Virgiuny," in my next 
letter — trusting, too, that, on my pen, as in the negro's 
banjo and heels, it will " never tire." 

Yours meantime. 



LETTER III. 

Drive through the Pine Woods — An old Chapel— The Craves of the Family of 
Washington's Mother— Copy of an Epitaph— The Blind Preacher— Female 
seclusion in Virginia — Disappointment as to their Horses — Excellent way of 
hitching Horses — Tandem of Cows — Carelessness of personal appearance 
in Virginia Gentlemen — Mistaken impression of a Fellow-traveller, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, December. 
The first long drive that I took, into tlie wilderness 
stretcMng back from the shores of the Rappahannock, 
seemed to me (as I have before remarked), like a day's 
journey through the aisles of an interminable cathedral. 
Tbe effect was added to by tbe noiselessness of the wheels 
over a road carpeted with pine tassels and of a sandy soil 
in which, for miles there is not a pebble, as well as by the 
absolute solitude of a country in which there did not seem 
to be a human being astir. Nature alone, the great High 
Priest, seemed swinging the censers of the tree-tops and 
filling the air with the exhaustless incense of the pines. 
But, how wonderfully straight and tall grow the tree shafts 
that sustain the roof of this vast temple ! No underbrush 
— for it is forbidden to grow, by the eternal shade of the 
evergreen foliage. Nothing but a wilderness of countless 
columns which the eye stops in following upwards to such 

401 



402 The Convalescent. 

unaccustomed heights, just as it returns bewildered from 
the immeasurable aisles winding on every side away. 
They who are born and reared in such a home, or whose 
daily thoroughfare it is, from school to dwelling, or from 
the farmhouse to field, would scarce fail, one would think, 
to have reverence for God ingrained in their habitual 
thought. The dim light, the atmosphere, the silence and 
the majestic grandeur of all around, seem irresistibly hal- 
lowing and contemplative. 

Riding slowly along, in the very midst of this great 
priory of the wild-wood, we came to a small brick chapel, 
surrounded with massive tombs. It looked like a for- 
gotten place, for the immense trees grew irregularly about, 
close to the mould-incrusted walls, and the very heavy sup- 
ports of some of the moss-covered entablatures were caving 
in — one of them which had originally been most solidly 
built, being quite in ruins. And these were the graves of 
the family of Washington's mother ! The well-engraved 
slabs of freestone were all brought from England, as were 
the bricks of which the chapel was built. The name of 
the family was Ball, * and this is the name upon all these 



* In Washington's family history, as given in Bishop Meade's excellent work, 
is a letter from one of his uncles on the maternal side, who resided in England. 
It reads thus: 

''Stratford, Uh of Sept., 1755. 

" Good Cousin, — It is a sensible pleasure to me to learn that you have be- 
haved yourself with such a martial spirit, in all your engagements with the 
French, nigh Ohio. Go on as you have begun, and God prosper you. We 
have heard of General Braddock's defeat. Everybody blames his rash conduct. 
Everybody commends the courage of the Virginians and Carolina men, which 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 403 

tottering gravestones. I copied the inscription of one of 
them — an uncle of Washington's who died when the 
nephew, who was to be the world's greatest man, was 
eight months old. It read thus : 

" Here lies interred the body of Mr. David Ball, a twin 
and seventh son of Captain William Ball, gent., born 26th 
of September, 1686, departed this life 14th December, 
1732.'^ 

It was but a few miles from this, on the bank of the 
Rappahannock, that the cottage stood where Mary Wash- 
ington, the widowed mother, reared her six children — lit- 
tle dreaming, probably, of her first-born's destiny and 
fame ! But, what a mother she was ! And liow precious 
is every memorial of the blood that was such a fountain of 
mingled greatness and goodness ! Should not these tombs 
of her kindred be included in the Mount Vernon Restora- 
tion and Consecration, to be held sacred under their 
Nature-reared chancel-roof of towering pines, as the home 
of what was once dearest to Washington — the spot where 



is very agreeable to me. I desire you, as you may have opportunity, to give 
me a short account of how you proceed. I am your mother's brother. I 
hope you will not deny my request. I heartily wish you success, and am 

" Your loving uncle, Joseph Ball." 

" To Major George Washington, at the Falls of the Rappahannock, in Virginia, 
or elsewhere. 

" Please direct to me at Stratford, by Bow, near London." 

(Bishop Meade adds that the writer of this letter was married to a Miss Ra- 
venscroft, and settled in London as a practitioner at law.) 



404 The Convalescent. 

clustered the family memories of the one American mother 
to whom the world is most grateful ? * 

The secluded place of worship which hallows this bur- 
ial-place (called White Chapel Church, Lancaster county), 
has probably often heard the eloquence of " the Blind 
Preacher," so feelingly descried by Mr. Wirt, the parish of 
this Mr. Waddle, as I afterwards understood, being at Lan- 
caster, a few miles distant. There is little need, however, 
of accumulating interest in the memories of such a spot. 
We climbed up and looked in at the dim windows of the 
old chapel, and saw the walls and ceiling on which her 
eyes and her sons had often rested during the worship of 
God. There was, to me, a strange nearness and newness 
of realization, in thus coining upon what had been so fa- 

* It will aid here and there a reader, perhaps, in recalling the picture of this 
most eminent of women, if I copy, from Mrs. Kirkland's " Memoir of Washing- 
ton," the mention of her death. She states that soon after his Inauguration as 
President, he was seized with a violent illness which confined him for six 
weeks. " Before the President had entirely recovered, he received intelligence 
of the illness and death of his aged mother, of whom he had taken a tender 
leave when he set out to assume the presidency, feeling that he should proba- 
bly never see her more. It is said that at this last parting, Washington, em- 
bracing his mother, bowed his head upon her shoulder and wept, murmur- 
ing at the same time, something of a hope that they should meet again. ' No, 
George,' she replied, ' this is our last parting; my days to come are few. But go, 
fulfill your high duties, and may God bless and keep you.' His mother was 
then dying of a cancer which at last put a painful end to her life at the age of 
eighty-two. Honored as she deserved to be, and showing to the last the 
resolution and fortitude which had distinguished her through life, she descend- 
ed to the grave with dignity, and left a name far above all titles. To have 
been the mother of Washington was enough. The world has agreed to con- 
sider some of his noblest traits as derived from her ; and to her steadiness of 
character, her sound, common-sense views, her high and stern morality, and 
her deep sense of religious responsibiUty, are undoubtedly due a large part of 
the illustrious virtues which made her son what he was." 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 405 

miliarly associated with his childhood — with the more 
religious and graver of the youthful thoughts of the boy, 
brought hither as he undoubtedly was, by his mother, in 
attending divine service near the graves of her kindred. I 
felt, somehow, as if I had more possibly " touched the hem 
of his garment," here than at the " Head Quarters " where 
he was commander-in-chief. 

We could not well avoid, while travelling through a 
neighborhood which had been thus inhabited, the looking 
around for those on whom Mrs. Washington's mantle had 
perhaps fallen. When Lafayette came hither to pay his 
respects to the mother of his friend, " he found her," (says 
Mrs. Kirkland), " at work in her garden with an old sun- 
bonnet on." " I have seen a portrait of her," says the 
Memoir again, " when she was still the fair Mary Ball, 
and I could not help fancying that the lofty forehead, deter- 
mined brow, and cool calm eye of the picture, prefigured 
well the high-spirited and keen matron, who, in her old 
ao-e, replied to her son-in-law's kind offer to manage her 
business for her : You may keep my accounts. Fielding, 
for your eyesight is better than mine, but I can manage 
my affairs myself." It was, I say, a contrast to this which 
we could not help recording, that, in all our wanderings of 
three or four days over the neighborhood where she lived 
we did not meet a single white woman out of doors ! It 
chanced to be dry under foot, the finest of weather for 



406 The Convalescent 

riding, driving, or any manner of exercise in the open air, 
and we passed scores of plantations and fine residences, yet 
neither in vehicle nor on horseback, in garden or road, did we 
meet or see damsel or lady ! This might have been chance , 
but it looks a little as if the habits of exercise, brought 
over by the Fairfaxes and Washingtons, and so necessary 
to the perpetuation of the type, are fallen into disuse. 

I went to Virginia with one other expectation, based 
upon its ancient renown — that of meeting gentlemen riders 
upon the road, mounted upon the finest of horses. In all 
stories of the Old Dominion, the horsemanship of her sons 
is made much of, and in Irving's Life of Washington, he 
says : " The great number of fine horses in the stables of 
the Virginia gentlemen, who are noted for their love of the 
noble animal, had enabled Cornwallis to mount many of 
his troops in first-rate style. These he employed in scour- 
ing the country, and destroying public stores. Tarleton 
and his legion, it is said, were mounted on race-horses." 
With a vision thus sharpened, and my own " special weak- 
ness " for the animal, I naturally had my eye set for a well- 
mounted horseman at every turn of the road ; and horse- 
men in great numbers we saw — many more, in proportion 
to the number of passers-by, than would have been met in 
any rural neighborhood of the North — but on very poor 
nao-s indeed ! One only I chanced to see, with any look 
of blood in him, and I could not resist the impulse to go 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 401 

up and pat his arched neck — very much the feeling with 
which, as a traveller on the Nile, I should pick up ever so 
modern a paddle that chanced to be adrift, sure that it was 
a remnant of Cleopatra's barge. The master, who was on 
him, and who stood at the edge of a wood, waiting for the 
dogs to turn out a fox, was very coucteous in his response 
to my stirrup-sympathy, but he did not seem to think 
much of the horses of the neio-hborhood. 

I noticed one equestrian habit, in Virginia, however, 
which I most heartily wish might be copied by our less 
courteous population at the North. In passing a country 
post-office, where several gentlemen had dismounted, wait- 
ing for the arrival of the mail, I noticed that they tied their 
horses, not to the trunks of the trees, where the impatient 
animals would gnaw off the bark, but to the branches out 
of reach over their heads. With the number of beautiful 
trees that we have lost at Idlewild by the less thoughtful 
hitching of the teams of strangers to our elms and hem- 
locks, I could not but mention this Virginia politeness, with 
a hope of its northern imitation. 

And, talking of hitching, I must mention one other Vir- 
ginia excellence in this line. With no fences at the sidea 
of the roads, it is an economy of course to have the cows of 
one mind, when being driven from place to place. They 
secure this by arranging them in a long tandem, the 
horns of one hitched to the tail of another, and so on. 



408 The Convalescent. 

The only trouble being, then, to keep the head one in the 
right way, and any pluribus-unum-iraity of a scamper into 
the woods being stopped by the first tree, it requires but a 
small boy to drive a herd. I have so often seen my man 
out of breath, from the cows having diflerent geographical 
tastes, in the tangled paths of Idlewild, that I thanked Old 
Dominion for the idea. 

I had made up my mind, after the first day or two of 
observation, that I would venture to record, in print, my 
disappointment as to Virginia gentlemen, in the matter of 
•personal exterior. As they came cantering along with 
their loose bridles through the woods — pointed out by our 
guides as the high named owners of estates in the neigh- 
borhood — I could not but be struck with a slovenlv care- 
lessness of dress, such as could alone come from a con- 
firmed indifference to the public eye. I say I had intended 
to remark upon this prevailing degeneracy from the Fairfax 
and Washington standard, and I had selected one Virginia 
gentleman to " sit for his picture " — a fellow-traveller in 
one of the boats on the Rappahannock. He certainly was 
a marked instance of it, and what with the tobacco-juice 
oozing from the corners of his mouth, dirty linen, and 
coat out at the elbows, I could hardlv understand what I 
saw, by his conversation with those around, to be his posi- 
tion and condition. I was concludins: that he was either a 
ruined gambler or a prodigal son of some well known and 



/ 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 409 

respected family, when I saw him do something which nt 
once redeemed him in ray estimation. Previous to retir- 
ing to his berth for the night, he left his half dozen com- 
panions around the cabin stove, took the Bible which lay 
on the shelf by the mirror, and sitting down by the candle 
in the corner, read for a few minutes, in apparently com- 
plete abstraction. Then, closing the book, he sat for a few 
moments with his hand over his eyes — ^his face, as he rose 
and came towards us, looking so different from what I had 
before thought it, that I saw I had mistaken my man ! 
Though a sloven in his exterior, he was neither ashamed 
nor afraid to honor God openly. And thus I will believe 
that the neglect of the outer man, with which I had been 
disposed to find fault, is often, in Virginia, but a thin crust 
over hearts kept right, and qualities inherited from better 
days. 

In my next letter I may take you a little further into the 
interior of the State. Meantime, 

Yours in a Highland snow-storm. 



18 



LETTER IV. 

Negro Happiness in Virginia — Persevering Politeness against Discouragemeirt — 
Family's Slaves Moving West — Evening View of a Negro Cabin — Aunt Fanny, 
the Centenarian and the Black Baby— New kind of Negro Music — Pig-matins 
at Daylight — Chats with Negro "Woodsmen — Virginia Supply of Black Walnut 
for Coffins — Adroit Negro Compliment — Family Graves on Plantation — Visit 
to the Hut of a Murderer's Widow. 

Idle WILD, December. 
Did it ever occur to jon to speculate upon the diflference 
it would make, in the minds, moods and manners of the 
throngs in our streets, if that monster and nightmare of 
life, commonly understood by the phrase " care for a 
livelihood," were removed ? I cannot explain in any other 
way, the prompt and good-humored politeness, the ready 
wit, the really almost universal apparent gaiety and con- 
tent, of the negroes of Virginia. We were all very much |i 
struck with this, in our few days' ramble through the Old 
Dominion. The smile and service were so ready, the reply J|l 
was so invariably and often so ingeniously courteous, the look 
of easy, care-for-nothing happiness was so habitual upon the 
countenances of all ages, that, for the first time, I realized 
what I had been alvvays used to, as the contrary — how 
haunted are our working-classes at home by the spectre of 

410 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 411 

responsibility in want. What a smile-killer it is ! What 
a darapener of spontaneousness of tongue and brain! 
What a spoiler of the general sunshine of human faces is 
this care for a livelihood ! Truly, the mere doing the work 
is the least part of earning a living. 

The perseverance of the southern negro's politeness — 
however you may account for it — is a very agreeable dif- 
ference between him and his brethren at the North. On 
board the different steamboats on the Potomac and Rap- 
pahannock, where many of the passengers were of the 
rougher classes of white men, we saw it very thoroughly 
tested. Nothing could well be more repelling than the 
surly heave of the shoulder or the curt monosyllable with 
which the best-phrased civilities of the waiters on table 
were oftenest received — yet it made no difference I Their 
ino'enuity to suggest or invent a want, if there was none 
waiting to be supplied, was wholly indefatigable. The 
smile was easy, and most submissively appealing. The 
manner and the words were well chosen and graceful. 
How is all this persevered in, against so much discourage- 
ment ? 

On the forward deck of one of the boats ascending tbe 
Rappahannock was a bevy of some twenty slaves, whose 
master was taking them to his new residence in Arkansas. 
As they had come from an old Virginia plantation, in the 
interior, we watched them with some interest. They were of 



412 The Convalescent. 

all ages, men, women and children, and a better conditioned 
or more contented company of working-people I never saw. 
I looked in vain for any sulkiness, or abstraction, or other 
sign of brooding over a hidden paiu or sorrow. Whatever 
care any one of them might have had, personal or condi- 
tional, it seemed overbalanced by the blessed consciousness 
that the cares of the day were no business of his — he " was 
only a passenger." 

At one of the plantations where we passed the night, the 
master of the house kindly assented to my wish for an 
inside view of one of the log-cabins. Somewhere about 
eight o'clock, in company with the young man whom he 
gave me for a guide, I crossed the courtyard to a low hut, 
from the cracks and crevices of which streamed the light 
of a bricrht fire within. It was the domicil often or twelve 
" haulers and steady cutters," who, after their work all day 
in the pine woods, came here to cook their supper and 
sleep. The scene as we opened the door was very pictur- 
esque. One whole side of the hut, according to the pro- 
portions of backwoods architecture, was fireplace ; and, 
in front of a glowing heap of pine logs, sat the two who 
had charge of the cooking — a most tempting looking corn 
cake in one frying-pan and a mess of pork in another. A 
boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age, sat with a jack-knife 
by a large heap of oysters, on one side, opening for the 
company ; and around, in all possible attitudes, on the 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 413 

floor and up against the wall, lay the laborers, with their 
feet to the fire. I saw no beds. They seemed to lie down 
with their clothes on. One or two were asleep — probably to 
be waked up when supper should be ready. From one old 
fellow in the corner came the only approach to an uncivil 
speech which I heard while in Virginia. " Hullo, dar !" he 
roared out, very gruffly, to the boy who was sitting with 
his jack-knife by the heap of shells, " keep digging out 
dera oysters, and don't be looking roun' at noting at all I" 
Though perhaps this was intended as a correction of the 
lad's freedom in lookinfj at the strano^er. 

On another plantation where we were most kindly enter- 
tained, there was a curiosity in the shape of a negro woman 
of great age ; and, the little son of our host undertaking 
willingly to show me the way to " old Aunt Fanny's," we 
started for our visit after breakfast. There were several 
huts close together ; and, at the half open door of one of 
them, the little fellow stood for a moment, calling to Aunt 
Fanny to make her appearance. And she came presently, 
with quite a lively step, a neatly-dressed little old mummy, 
as nearly dried up as skin and bones would any way permit, 
and most politely invited us in. It was a log-cabin, and 
the interior was exceedingly neat and comfortable. A 
bright fire burned on the hearth, the floor was cleanly 
swept, the bed in the corner with its patch- work quilt 
looked very inviting, and, on one side of the chimney, sat 



414 The Convalescent. 

a handsome young woman of perhaps twenty-five years of 
age, rocking a cradle in which lay a black infant asleep. 
These were descendants of Aunt Fanny ; and, with her, 
they had lately fallen to their present master by inherit- 
ance — a comfortable home for the old woman, while she 
shall live, being thus provided by law. And to " the insti- 
tution," it appeared also that the young mother was some- 
what indebted, for the lad who was now her husband having 
fallen in love with her, his master had bought her from 
a neighboring planter and seen them happily married. In 
the ten minutes' conversation which I had with the old 
woman, she expressed herself very religiously, and seemed 
patiently " biding her time " to go to a better world. It 
■was apparently as happy an old age as is often seen. 

I was a little mystified, at one of our sleeping-places, 
with a new specimen of negro music. Just before day- 
light, a sort of half melodious, half painful scream com- 
menced making the circuit of the house — something 
which I, at first, took to be the incoherent wail of a mad- 
man, but which, by long repetition, grew at last into a con- 
certed tune ; aided also by a gradually strengthening 
accompaniment of something like the stamping of feet. 
Straining my eyes in all directions, I at last discovered a 
radiation, towards the house, of innumerable little black 
pigs, coming from every quarter across the fields and at 
all sorts of paces. The chanter of the pig-matin revolved 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 415 

presently around, a tall old negro with a slouched hat and 
his arms folded so gs to ffct his hands out of the cold, and 
past him scampered his light-footed parish to their 
morning devorations — the song continuing vigorously, to 
make sure that they were all called in. It appeared that 
the little sinners have the run of the woods all day and 
eight, fed, in the morning only, at the trough ; and it is 
this healthful exercise, probably, with perhaps some little 
flavor from their nut-eating and rooting, which gives the 
fame to the " Vira^inia ham." But the established music 
which summons them home is certainly a very penitential 
(Combination of notes, and, as the overture to a peccavimus 
omnes, to be chanted before daylight in Lent, is worthy of 
Catholic notice and analysis. 

As much of the time of ray companions was occupied in 
verifying the surveys of land where the felling of timber 
was going on, I had plenty of opportunity for chat with 
the negro wood-choppers ; and I found them as amusing as 
they were universally good-humored and polite. The 
" stint" of work, I found, was but the cutting of one cord 
of pine wood a day — scarcely the half of what is " piled 
up " by any regular woodsman in our neighborhood. For 
this (where the slave is hired of his master), the wages 
are from ten to twelve dollars a month, besides food, lodg- 
ing and clothing — somewhat more than a laborer gets for 
his winter work, with us. One very intellisfent fellow, who 



416 The Convalescent. 

handled bis axe quite beautifully, inquired of me whether 
the fashion for coffins was likely to change at the North. 
I was a little puzzled with his question, till he explained 
that the present demand of black-walnut^ for that final con- 
venience, afifected his class of chopping very considerably. 
The supply of the obituary staple from Virginia was new to 
me ; and I could not tell him, of course, how soon the dead 
might return to their mahogany. Curious twin products 
for which to be indebted to the good old State — coffins 
and tobacco ! 

I was amused at the adroitness with which another 
young fellow contrived to turn a reply into a bantering 
compliment. He happened to have a remarkably hand- 
some beard ; and, in talking of the way coal was now 
superseding wood, so that the trees would soon be left to 
stand, not paying to cut and send away, I said : " So, this 
fine timber will be like that long beard of yours, very 
handsome where it grows, but not worth paying taxes 
upon, for want of a market." " Ah," said he, " massa ! 
you and I too young to be berry anxious what dey'U tax us 
for our beards quite yet !" As the handsome rascal stood 
showing his teeth, and stroking down the silky black floss 
upon his chin, I wondered whether he knew how much of 
a courtier he was — coupling his own age and beard with 
those of a gentleman past fifty ! 

Our host, for one night, was but a temporary tenant 



I 



Trip to the Rappahannock. ill 

occupying wliat was once the mansion-house of an old 
plantation. The graves of the family were in one corner 
of the garden, and those of the slaves in the field outside, 
separated only by the wooden paling. The last proprietor 
had sold out and moved to Alabama ; but he had lately 
sent to know whether he could take the liberty to come 
and inclose the whole graveyard with a handsome paling, 
and plant it with evergreens, to be kept sacred. There 
seemed to me a very precious privacy in this old Virginia 
usao-e of burying within the limits of the home estate, and, 
if it were not for the uncertainty of tenure, how preferable 
it would always be to the kind of disowning that there is 
in the putting away of beloved remains to the common 
graveyard ! 

There was one home that we saw, .upon our third day's 
tramp into the interior, of which I can scarce hope to 
describe to you the unutterable sadness. It was a log- 
cabin in the very heart of the wilderness, far removed from 
any other human dwelling ; and here lived the widow and 
children of Tasco Adams, the free negro who, a few 
months ago, was hanged for murder. The mother was 
away — gone probably to some distant house to beg food 
for her children — and we went in to see what might be 
the refuge of the affrighted little ones who had lied from 
the door at our approach. Over the embers of a nearly 
extinct fire, stood shivering a little sickly girl of six or 

18* 



418 The Convalescent. 

seven years, holding in her arms an infant of perhaps ten 
or twelve months, bundled in rags, while an almost naked 
child of two or three years clung to the tattered petticoat 
hanmnof in slrinofs around her. A doo:, as nearly starved 
as an animal could well be, crouched in behind the last 
brand in the chimney. There was no fuel around the 
entrance, and no sign of food within. The floor was of har- 
dened mud, and a few rags in the corner were all that looked 
like a bed. For a picture of squalor and starvation, I had 
never seen the equal of that hovel's interior ! And what a 
place to be left alone in, with such a memory ! Yet a 
smile could be born, even here. As we gave the little 
wasted girl three pieces of money, one for each, she evi- 
dently remembered her mother, and looked up to me with 
a gleam over her dark face : " If you please, sir, one 
more !" she said. And a more beautiful smile than 
received that " one more " piece of money, never was born 
in a palace ! 

It were too long a step to pass from this entail of shame 
and want to the mention of the largest of human inherit- 
ances — the memory left behind by Washington — so, of our 
next day's approach to the childhood's home of the Father 
of his Country, I will reserve the description for another 

letter. 

Yours always. 



LETTER V. 

Caught asleep — General Mint-julep before Breakfast— Virginian Refinements 
of good Eating — Reembarkation on the Rappahannock, for Fredericksburg — 
The River, along through King George County — Country-seats of the Car- 
ters, Tayloes and other well-known Names — Scene of George Washington's 
Boyhood— His Mother and her humble Cottage — His every-day Appearance 
.and Character at Fredericksburg, when a Boy — Difference of the Boy-ideal 
from that of a Man — A second Picture of the adolescent Washington, from 
sixteen to twenty— His first Visit to Belvoir and Intimacy with the Fairfaxes 
— Wish that a gifted Descendant of this Family would give us their Remem- 
brances of Washington — Fredericksburg itself and its Tomb and Chapel- 
Snow, and Journey across to the Potomac, etc., etc., etc.. 

Idle WILD, December. 
TuE steara-whistle of the boat that was to take us to 
Fredericksburg (one day's passage higher up the Rappa- 
hannock), caught us asleep — the State which is famous in 
history for its " heroes and hunts, its hams and hominy, 
its handsome handmaidens and hearty hospitalities," hav- 
ing cast its spells over us ! I had gone to bed after 
watching, by the light of the full moon, the picturesque 
galloping away from our host's door, of some bold riders 
and most agreeable fellows, with whom we had made mer- 
ry from noon almost till midnight ; and good fun (I have 
always found) is, of all night-caps, the most dreamless and 

solid. The awaking whistle, however, which so took us 

4ia 



420 The Convalescent. 

bj surprise, was blown at the landing below ; and, between 
that and the wharf where we w-ere to embark, there was a 
circumbendibus of the crooked river to be performed by 
the boat — so that, for a hasty toilette and a hastier break- 
fast, we had, still, something like railway time. 

I am indirectly apologizing, by this explanation of 
haste, for the very inadequate notice with which I am 
compelled to pass by a certain Virginia " institution" — the 
MATUTINAL MINT-JULEP, OF anti-febrile stomach-nudger — 
served to the male guests on their first rising in the morn- 
ing, and previous to their introduction to the ladies. This 
most appetizing potation is prepared in a family tankard, 
of the size which it takes two hands to lift ; and it was 
most gravely passed around like a solemn and savory 
"good morning," as we entered the drawing-room before 
breakfast, each guest burying his head successively in the 
thicket of the fragrant herb, and subtracting his own 
" tithe of mint," with a measure of breath wholly discre- 
tionary. As a sanitary precaution (in a locality where 
the morning air is to be dreaded on an empty stomach) 
this breakfast courage is doubtless very expedient ; but one 
can scarce help rejoicing also in a certain secondary efiect 
— the social fusion, or the dispelling of morning's natural 
moodiness, consequent upon this passing around of a cor- 
dial for all lips. In fact, of the full enjoyment of this Virgi- 
nia " institution," as beginning to be felt by the merry party 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 421 

assembled immediately afterwards around the table, the 
too early coming of the boat was felt by all to be a trying 
interruption. 

I may as well mention here, apropos of the art of nour- 
ishment as perfected in different latitudes, one or two 
other assistances of Nature, which I had not met with in 
previous travel, and which may help to account for fhe 
larger stature, greater fecundity of language, and other 
generous exuberances characteristic of Virginians. The 
dinner is commonly at one o'clock, the day's hungriest 
hour ; but, at twelve, there is a first summons to the side- 
board, and, at half-past twelve, another, for the sake of 
confirming, by a little " something and water," the prepar- 
atory condition of the stomach. The dinner itself, of 
course, is of that profusion of meats and game for which the 
State is famous; but its final culmination was new to me 
— the passing around of a tray of raw oysters, to be eaten 
from the shell, and, by the liquescent insinuation, and un- 
cloying succulence of which any omitted crevice or forgot- 
ten pore or vesicle of the careless or inattentive stomach 
might be securely reached. On leaving the table, after 
this oyster climax, the stranger would naturally suppose 
dinner to be over ; but, with a brief hour of cigars and 
conversation in the drawing-room, the folding-doors were 
again thrown open, and lo ! in the centre of the table, a 
vast punch-bowl oV^ egg-nog'''' — an appetizing digestive, by 



422 The Convalescent. 

which any tardiness or torpor of the reluctant stomach 
might be encouragingly overtaken. This golden liquor 
was dispensed with a long silver ladle, by our host, as we 
stood around with expectant tumblers ; after which, of 
course, we returned more cheerfully to our double labors 
of digestion and conversation. Tea with the ladies follow- 
ed naturally at six; and supper at nine; with hot toddies 
indefinitely thereafter. But it will be seen, that, in 
modern Virginia, they " live well." 

Our steamei' (which makes this trip but once a week) 
took all the rest of a short autumnal day for the tracing of 
the remainder of the Rappahannock up to Fredericksburg. 
But it was a voyage of great beauty. The river soon be- 
came very narrow, and very serpentine in its course, and 
the wooded banks, brought so near, were of course made 
much more bold and picturesque. With the suddenness 
of the turns it often seemed as if the bow of the boat were 
carving out a new river as it went along. This has al- 
ways been the wealthiest part of Virginia; and, on the 
eminences a little back from the shore, stood the spacious 
mansions, which, when named to us by our conversible 
captain, we recognized, at once, as the homes of distin- 
guished families long heard of. We took a good look, 
among others, at " Mount Airy," the country-seat of the 
Tayloe family, to whose hospitalities at Washington 
stranorers are so much indebted. Then there was " Sabin 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 423 

Hall," where lived the Carters, and *' Sandfield Lodge," 
and " Gaymont," and a score of others which have been 
the cradles of the Past-days' "beautiful and brave." 
We saw but one new building, of any pretension, and that 
was a most sumptuous residence, close to the bank of the 
river, just completed by Mr. Pratt of Camden. Over all 
the rest were gathering (what is painfully unusual in most 
of the landscapes of our land of fresh paint and white- 
wash) the middle tints of walls and angles long let alone. 
But, as we came nearer to Fredericksburg, there was a 
"spell of the Past," which (for me at least) essentially dis- 
placed the Present. A cloudy twilight was falling upon 
the banks of the river, as we glided along where it used to 
be known that " George Washington was the only boy 
who could throw a stone across it." Here used to play the 
lad, of whom history now records what an old gentleman 
of the neighborhood chanced to say of him : "Egad he 
ran wonderfully ! We had nobody hereabouts that could 
come near him. There was young Langhorn Dade, of 
Westmoreland, a confounded clean-made, tight young fel- 
low, and a mighty swift runner, too, but he was no match 
for George." And let me quote from history another pic- 
ture of what came back, as we neared Fredericksburg, 
with the vividness of a walking dream — the early days, in 
this valley, of him for whose memory as he was when a 
child, its horizon of bold mountains is now proud to be the 



424 The Convalescent. 

honoring sarcophagus. Thus records Mr. Weems, the 
clergyman of the parish — giving the story as he heard it 
from an old lady who was a relative of the Washingtons 
and had spent much time in the family : 

"On a fine morning m the fall of 1737, Mr. Washing- 
ton, having little George by the hand, came to the door, 
and asked my cousin Washington and myself to walk with 
him to the orchard, promising he would show us a fine 
sight. On arriving at the orchard, we were presented 
*¥ith a fine sight indeed. The whole earth, as far as we 
could see, was strewed with fruit, and yet the trees were 
bending under the weight of apples which hung in clusters 
like grapes. 

" * Now, George,' said his father, ' look here, my son ! 
Don't you remember when this good cousin of yours 
brought you that fine large apple, last spring, how hardly 
I could prevail on you to divide with your brothers and sis- 
ters ; though I promised you, if you would but do it, God 
Almighty would give you plenty of apples this fall V 
Poor George couldn't say a word ; but, hanging down his 
head, looked quite confused, while, with bis little naked 
toes, he scratched in the soft ground. 

"'Now look up, my son! look up, George!' continued 
his father, 'and see there, how richly the blessed God has 
made good my promise to you. Wherever you turn your 
eyes you see the trees loaded with fine fruit, many of them 
indeed breaking down ; while the ground is covered with 
mellow apples, more than you could eat in your whole life, 
my son !' 

" George looked in silence on the wide wilderness of 
fruit. He marked the busv hummino; bees, and heard the 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 425 

gay notes of birds ; then, lifting his eyes, filled with shin- 
ing moisture to his father, he softly said : 

" ' Well, pa ! only forgive me this time, and see if I ever 
be so stingy any more 1' " 

Of his mother, as she appeared at that time, Mrs. Kirk- 
land gives us a picture : 

" There is, at this day, an old lady at Fredericksburg 
who remembers her mother saying that Mrs. Washington 
often came there to drink tea, riding in what is called in 
Virginia a 'stick chair' — i. e., an old-fashioned unstufFed 
chaise without a top — bringing little George on a stool at 
her feet." 

Of his birthplace, the sketch is also very precious : 

"There, in that old farm-house, which was so old-fash- 
ioned and dilapidated, that the family (at the time of their 
removal to the more immediate vicinity of Fredericks- 
burg) did not think it worth preserving many years 
longer — a four-roomed house with a chimney at each end, 
which chimney was carried up on the outside ; at teij 
o'clock in the morning, was born a little boy, fair-haired and 
long-limbed, but so much like other boys that it is hardly 
probable even the most sagacious of the neighbors thought 
him likely to become one of the greatest powers of the 
earth." . . . "The family lived very plainly, and the 
new-comer opened his dark blue eyes on a scene no grander 
than may be found in the plainest Virginia or Vermont 
farm-house of our own day. There was, we may be sure, a 
low ceiling ; a great wide brick or tile fireplace ; a well 
saved carpet, with a few straw-bottomed chairs, and a tall 



42d The Convalescent. 

old bedstead with posts like sloop-masts — such a one as 
Washington slept in to the end of his life." . . . . "It was 
one of the preparatory blessings of George Washington's 
happy lot, that he was bred in this plain and simple way. 
It made him easy to please, fond of wholesome and inno- 
cent pleasures, and satisfied with plain things for his own 
use, all his days, although he had taste, and knew how 
to conform to fashion in matters which concerned other 
people. He was most at home in a farmer's plain clothes, 
roving the woods with his gun, watching the performance 
of the plough and the liarrow." 

" Mr, Washington (his father) left the old farm on Pope's 
Creek when George was very young ; indeed, some say, 
soon after he was born ; but only to exchange it for ano- 
ther, probably a better one, on the Rappahannock, opposite 
Fredericksburg." ..." The same plain style of liv- 
ing continued ; and George now old enough to go to 
school, was sent to a schoolmaster, rough as the pines that 
nestled about the poor old school-house — an old fellow 
named Hobby, one of Mr. Washington's tenants — who 
used to boast, in after times, when he had become superan- 
nuated and somewhat addicted to strong potations, that it 
was he, old Hobby, who between his knees had laid the 
foundations of Washington's greatness." 

Of the Fi'ederickshurg every-day picture of the boy 
George Washington, another touch or two may well be 
recalled : 

" Among the items of Washington's early training we 
must not omit to mention the robust physical exercises to 
which he subjected himself, prompted naturally by his 
sense of great bodily power, and incited still more by the 



I 



II 



•I 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 427 

pleasure of companionship ; for it seems to have been 
much the fashion to tr}^ strength in running, leaping, 
pitching the bar, wrestling, etc. An old governor of Vir- 
ginia, Nicholson, had, long before, instituted public games, 
and distributed prizes for proficiency in all these athletic 
sports. Washington was early able to manage a fiery horse, 
and to use and confirm his own sinews by feats that none of 
his companions could equal. Whatever stirred his blood, 
and brought his muscles into vigorous exercise, was his 
delight. His young lady companions complained some- 
times, we are told, that George cared nothing for their com- 
pany, but would always be out of doors. There is a story 
of his having ridden to death a fiery colt of his mother's, 
which nobody else dared to back. It is said that the 
good lady was very much provoked, but said, * 1 can forgive 
you, because you came at once and confessed it. If you 
had skulked I should have despised you.'" .... "All 
his life long he was at home on horseback. He was pop- 
ularly called the best rider in Virginia, where all are 
riders." .... " He inherited from his mother a love of 
good horses, for this was one of her characteristic traits. 
We should judge, from his life and letters, that he spent 
at least half of his threescore and eight years on horseback. 
This could not have favored his being a graceful walker, 
and, accordingly we hear that he was not such ; but his 
great length of limb preserved him from being like the 
jockey, who 'always walked as if he had a horse 
under him.' He had a direct business-like manner of 
walking — Mr. Custis says, ' a straight, methodical, Indian 
walk ;' but as an Indian walks with his toes turned in, it 
seems hardly pi'obable that Washington's appearance 
would have been as we know it to have been, if he had 
allowed this strikinolv ungraceful fault in his carriage to 



428 The Convalescent. 

become habitual. He was very careful of his appearance, 
being a person of great natural taste ; and one who had a 
just estimate of its importance in regard to the impression 
we make on strangers." 

Thus was outlined — (from the marked passages in the 
books I had read, descriptive of Washington's early life) — 
the shadow that now filled the twilight air, as we landed 
on the spot which was, in those days, most familiar to him. 
Washington had been a boy here ! And I could not 
but remember, as I stood on the river bank, to which he 
alone, of the school-boys on the opposite side, could throw 
a stone — where he was daily seen and known as the lad 
who was the best rider of young colts and the best runner 
«Df boy-races — how different is the ideal, that is thus por- 
trayed to the imagination, from the one which, at Mount 
Vernon, is, at this moment, the object of the nation's 
thoughts ! Between us and that Washington — the sage, 
the statesman, the saviour of his country — the gulf of sepa- 
ration is one only to be spanned by revering awe. Of his 
apotheosis before death (for his fullness of a renown, that 
may well be called superhuman, was complete, long before 
the grave set its seal upon it), Mount Vernon is the thresh- 
old — the place where repose the ashes now held sacred as 
"the mantle that fell from him as he rose." And hallowed 
forever be it ! But, if possible, we loould come nearer to 
him than this ! There is a secret yearning in every human 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 429 

heart to " touch the hem " of the prophet's garment. We 
want the more familiar knowledge of the great man which 
enables us to feel that he was not altoo^ether unlike our- 
selves — that he has walked on the same ground, and 
might have known and talked with us. And how admira- 
bly does it meet this sympathetic yearning of the heart — 
how cheeringly and satisfyingly — to picture forth the boy 
Washington of the Rappahannock ! 

The few hours that we passed in Fredericksburg, were 
thus, for me, irresistibly spell-bound. I felt the " spirit of 
the spot" — the presence of the fine, brave school-boy, 
George Washington — as I never had done in reading of 
him, as I probably never should do without walking on the 
ground where he had played. Strange ! how the spot of 
earth that has been the cradle of a great soul will thus 
stay enchanted with the promise elsewhere fulfilled ! 

And yet there is still another George Washington^ the 
haunt of whose spirit is to be sought at Fredericksburg — 
the George Washington of sixteen years of age — the "tall, 
handsome lad, by no means considered a prodigy, but 
thought highly of by the neighbors"— just leaving school, 
" with an education very incomplete," and coming home to 
his widowed mother, who, in her low-roofed cottage, had 
now her second and sorer travail, her son's launch upon 
the world, laboring at her heart ! And how would the 
picture of him as he then walked through the streets of 



430 The Convalescent. 

Fredericksburg, on the daily errands for his mother — 
exactly as he appeared to the neighbors who were then 
familiar with his form and features, with his habitual gait 
and his recognitions of acquaintances and friends, his 
dress, manners and mien — compare with the George 
Washino-ton of our Mount Vernon ideal ? How inestima- 
bly precious, to inquisitive though still idolizing posterity, 
would be that every-day picture of " young George," could 
it be re-conjured from those neighbors' eyes ! 

Perhaps, of this same period of his life, however, there 
would be a more poetic picture in his look as he seemed 
to the Fairfaxes at Belvoir, on his first modest visits to 
those great people. History records.for us that it was con- 
sidered the especial good fortune of George, that his elder 
half-brother, Lawrence, who was very fond of him and 
who had married Anne Fairfax, made him familiar with 
these new connections, then the wealthiest and most influ- 
ential people on this side the water. Let me copy a pas- 
sage or two, as the palette whereon the colors for this 
adolescent portrait of Washington are ready mixed : 

" Lawrence had been sent, as was the fashion of the 
times, to seek in England the education which this country 
did not then afford, and he had afterwards been induced to 
join the armament sent by Great Britain, in 1740, to the 
West Indies. Here he distinguished himself and won the 
confidence and respect of the British commanders, Admiral 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 431 

Vernon and General Wentworth. He intended to go to 
England and to remain and seek a promotion in the army, 
in which he had already held a captain's commission ; but 
having fallen in love with Miss Anne Fairfax, daughter of 
William Fairfax, a near relation to the eccentric lord of 
that name, he stayed at home to be married, and soon after, 
settled down on the farm in Fairfax county allotted to him 
by his father, which he afterwards named Mount Vernon, 
in honor of the gallant adiniral. 

" George's mother seems to have limited her ambition 
for her boy to making him an intelligent, honest and thriv- 
ing planter, able to survey his own land and other people's, 
to keep accounts with exactness, and to be proficient in 
country business, in which was included of course the prac- 
tice of hunting and fishing. 

"Lawrence had him often at Mount Vernon, where was 
to be found the best society in the country, and particularly 
that of the Fairfax family, who were well-bred though 
somewhat eccentric people, William Fairfax, the father- 
in-law of Lawrence, and the owner of a fine seat on the 
Potomac, a few miles below Mount Vernon, was a cousin 
of Thomas Lord Fairfax of Greenway Court, the proprie- 
tor, by grant from the crown, of the whole immense tract 
of land between the Potomac and Rappahannock rivers. 
The acquaintance with these men of wealth and distinction, 
then made at Mount Vernon, proved of immense and con- 
trollino; influence to Georo^e Washinorton." . . . '' Mr. 
Fairfax writes of him, at the time, to Lawrence : * George 
has been with us, and says he will be steady, and thank- 
fully follow your advice as his best friend.' " 

. . . " It was in March, 1748, that Washington set out, 
in company with Mr. George Fairfax and a small party, to 
explore immense tracts of wild woodlands in the Alleghany 



432 The Convalescent. 

Mountains. ... It was very serious earnest, involving 
both fatigue and danger, and there must have been some- 
thing very remarkable about a hoy of sixteen, whom Lord 
Fairfax, shrewd and keen-eyed as he was, intrusted with it. 
The young surveyer was accompanied by William Fairfax, 
brother of Mrs. Lawrence Washington, but Washington 
himself was the responsible person." 

• • • " The intimacy of the Fairfaxes was, in all re- 
spects, particularly important to Washington, and, for its 
solid benefit to his fortunes and its shaping power over his 
manners, deserves to be counted among the providential 
preparations for what -was to be required of him. His 
early training had certainly been of the homeliest sort. 
His father's landed possessions had brought work rathei* 
than money ; his mother was the declared enemy of all 
superfluity, and she counted as superfluity whatever had no 
reference to business. The traditions of her neighbor- 
hood represent her as contemning the softer arts, and 
viewing with more than misgiving the mere graces of 
society." 

• • • " But the Fairfaxes undoubtedly did him great 
aesthetic as well as other service. Thev were hisfh-bred 
people, wealthy and living in the exercise of a liberal hos- 
pitality, as well as in constant intercourse with the 
mother- country, to whom alone we looked for social exam- 
ple before the Revolution. Lord Fairfax, besides the ad- 
vantages resulting from his rank, was of University educa- 
tion, a man of the world, and moreover a thinker, an in- 
dependent character, and remarkable for his sagacity and 
discernment. His nephew, William Fairfax, was rich, and 
held a high position in the colony. His seat of Belvoir 
continued for many years to be the resort of all that was 
to be had of well-bred and highly polished society. The 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 433 

family was altogether the first in the district where they 
lived, and one such family must do much towards raising 
the standard of manners and ideas in the neighborhood. 
They intermaj'ried several times with the Washingtons, 
and had done so in England, before either stock was 
transferred to America. 

"A young man must be dull indeed, if the society of 
gentlemen and elegant women have no inspiration for him. 
Such a one was not George Washington, certainly ! When 
we read his ' Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in 
Company and Conversation, we need not be assured that 
no grace of mannner, refinement of expression or conversa- 
tional improvement that came under his observation at 
Belvoir or Greenway Court, passed without notice from 
him." 

Mrs. Kirkland (from whose captivating Memoir, of 
Washington in his youthful days, I have made these ex- 
tracts) strengthens one of the side lights for the picture — 
thouo-h with a concludino; remark that is somewhat at the 
expense of j5oetic dignity. She says : 

" It is curious to note how considerable a portion of 
Washington's private correspondence is with ladies 
With those to whom he was in no way bound except by 
friendship it was very large. This does not bespeak the 
stern business machine, which it has been the fashion to 
consider him, and we can imagine that few volumes would 
astonish the world more than a complete collection of 
the letters of friendship written by Washington to 
ladies." ..." Young as he was, the letters referring 
to a hopeless passion for some * lowland beauty * are sup- 

19 



434 The Contalescent. 

posed to have been written at this time. There is the be- 
ginning of an acrostic on the beloved name of ' Miss 
Frances Alexander,' which may perhaps have been the 
production of the same time of life ; but it is only a 
beginning, atrociously bad in point of poetical execution, 
and evidently given up (after the X) by the author him- 
self. The effort to express passionate thoughts in verse 
is common to all ardent minds, but his education had 
not been that which can render such expression easy 
or graceful. We must congratulate ourselves on the 
failure, for who knows where we might have been now, 
if Washington had turned out a poet ^^ 

By these chance records in history, it is easy to see that 
the youthful George — (with all his latent Washingtonian 
superiorities of inevitable good sense, far foresight, cool 
judgment, calm courage and sound principle) — was, most 
probably, to the eyes of common observers, at this time, 
only a handsome and promising stripling, very like many 
another in the neighborhood. The influence of the Fair- 
fax patronage upon his fortunes (particularly his being 
sent out, at the age of sixteen, by Lord Fairfax, as sur- 
veyor of his vast estates between the Rappahannock and 
Potomac) was doubtless looked upon, by all his mother's 
neighbors and by his own youthful friends, as a bit of 
wonderful good luck, which would be the whole key to 
anything unusual in his career. But how charming it 
would be, to see him, as he then presented himself at Bel- 
yoir, and as he seemed to the "Mrs. Fairfax," to whom 



1 



Tkip to the Rappahannock. 435 

was addressed, nearly at this time, one of the most charac- 
teristic and beautiful of his preserved letters ! Why- 
should not the Fairfaxes (of whose descendants I chance 
to know that there is one now resident in Viro-inia, whose 
fair hand holds a most dainty and gifted pen) give us, 
from their family records, the many photographic memo- 
ries they must contain of Washington, from the age of 
sixteen to twenty? 

But, to return to Fredericksburg. 

Of the town itself I saw but little. The evenino- was 
dark and stormy, and various local visits, that we had 
proposed, were prevented by the cheerless aspect of a 
ground covered with snow. We had wished to see the 
tomb of Washington's mother ; and I wished, particularly, 
to go to that wild chapel of rocks and trees, near her cot- 
tage, to which (as is recorded) she was in the habit of 
repairing every day, for her devotions — the spot where 
rested the ladder to heaven of that mother's prayers for 
that son ! With a look at the sky and a little consultation 
with my companions, we concluded to defer these pilgrim- 
ages ; and, for a future visit to Belvoir, and to other inter- 
esting spots in Virginia, to bring saddle-bags and mount 
horse, at some more genial season. A glimpse of the for- 
saken streets was all that was to be obtained before the 
departure of the train ; and, with an hour of railway 
(shorter time than the boy George Washington, who so 



436 The Convalescent. 

often rode it in the saddle, ever dreamed it would be done 

in) we crossed from the Rappahannock to the Potomac. 

In re-reading my letter, dear Morris, I find that it is of 

rather a mingled yarn ! But so is life — and so, especially, 

i& travel — and I weave it for you as Fate tangled it 

for me. 

Yours, unrevisingly. 



LETTER VI. 

Valley between the Potomac and Rappahannock — ^Washington's Frequent Ride 
across the " Neck of Virginia " — His Personal Appearance, when a Young 
Man — ^Young "Washington the Surveyor — A Chance Tableau of Contrasted 
Fairfaxes and Planters — The Young Englishman on Board the Boat, and our 
Virginia Captain — The Captain's Outer Man compared with his Passenger's 
— His New Invention — The Reading of his Application for a Patent — ^The 
Young Englishman's Self-sacrifice for Friendship — Parting of the well-trim- 
med Plant of a London Gentleman, and the George Washington " Run to 
Seed," etc., etc. 

Idlewild, Christmas Eve. 
My last letter closed with our trip across from tlie Rappa- 
hannock to the Potomac — the start for our return home. 
As this " Neck of Virginia," as it is called, however, 
chanced to be the fifteen or twenty miles which the promis- 
ino- lad, Georo-e Washino-ton at sixteen, oftenest rode over 
on horseback (the route between his mother's cottage at 
Fredericksburg and the Fairfax mansion at Belvoir) you 
will not object to retrace it with me. In the wavy outline 
of the horizon, at least, whatever may be the changes in 
the details of the scenery, the traveller still sees the frame 
on which the handsome young horseman broidered his 
thoughts as he rode along ; and, in resting my eye on the 
same mountain eminences which were the signal posts of 

437 



438 The Convalescent. 

his early survey of tliat very tract of land (the important 
first commission from Lord Fairfax, of which his precocious 
manhood must have been so proud), I once more found 
myself picturing him as he then looked. And it was easy 
to do it ! Try, yourself, as you now mentally traverse that 
romantic wilderness with me, the making younger, by a 
few years only, of the portrait left us by the historian — 
George Wasliington as he seemed when he first took the 
command of the Army of tiie Revolution. Let me refresh 
your memory with the stirring passage to which I refer : 

" On the morning of July third, the troops were arrayed 
on the Common at Cambridge, to receive their general. 
The cortege from Watertown was anxiously watched for. 
Though Washington was not then the Washington of our 
memories, yet enough had been said of him, of his bravery, 
his patriotism, his talents and his gallant bearing, to excite 
unusual interest in the troops. At length the trampling of 
horse amid a cloud of dust, ushered in the commander-in- 
chief and his suite^ all picked men and finely mounted. 
As they approached the line, the eye sought and easily 
recosfnized him in whose bearino^ should shine forth the 
right to rule. At the same moment the central figure gal- 
loped forward, and, wheeling his charger beneath the great 
elm which still adorns the spot, drew his sword, and flash- 
ing it in the air, took command, in form, of the armies of 
the United Colonies. 

" It was not difficult to distinguish him from all others, 
says Thacher. ' He is tall and well proportioned, and his 
personal appearance truly noble and majestic' 

" That this was not mere outward appearance, or even 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 439 

efiect of mental traits only, we are assured from various 
anecdotes showing the great physical power of Washington 
at the time. One in particular recounted by an eye-wit- 
ness is quoted by Mr. Irving. It occurred on the green at 
Cambridge. It happened that some dispute among the 
soldiers had brought on a fight, and, as blows bring blows, 
the mischief spread until a great number of men were 
engaged, and there was a general and dangerous melee. 

"In the midst of it, says the narrator, the commander-in- 
chief galloped up, I know not from what quarter; but, 
quick as lightning he sprang from his horse, threw the 
bridle to his servant, and dashed in among the combatants. 
Seizing two great powerful fellows by the collar, one in each 
hand, he shook them soundly, talking to them all the while, 
and them mounted his horse again and rode quietly off, 
the crowd having dispersed at once, requiring no further 
hint. 

"Mrs. Adams says, of the impression made on her by 
Washington, at first sight : ' Dignity, ease and compla- 
cency, the gentleman and the soldier, look agreeably 
blended in him. Modesty marks every line and feature of 
his face.' These lines of Dryden instantly occurred to 

her: 

" ' Mark his majestic fabric ! He's a temple, 
Sacred by birth and built by hands divine , 
His soul's the deity that lodges there ; 
Nor is the pile unworthy of the God.' " 

But this same godlike man, but a few years before, was 
only " young Washington of Fredericksburg," newly known 
as a " surveyor " — the one who often rode across the penin- 
sula between those two rivers, and, as he drew bridle at the 
far-apart doors upon his way, exchanged salutations with 



440 The Convalescent. 

the inhabitants, and sought employment in his profession. 
History thus sketches George Washington the surveyor : 

" The business of surveying, at that early day very profit- 
able, had the further advantage of introducing Washington 
to the favorable notice of land-holders and men of influence, 
whom his merits very naturally made his fast friends, and 
under whose auspices he found all the employment his health 
and strength allowed him to undertake. These acquaint- 
ances were first his employers, then his friends, afterwards 
his advocates with those in authority when office was in 
question ; further on, when the great struggle began, his 
admiring companions and colleagues ; and thence onward, 
to the end of his career, his firm adherents and supporters, 
feeling only too much honored in being counted among his 
neighbors and compatriots, when he had become known 
as one of the master-spirits of the world." 

And so, having told you which of the " George Wash- 
ingtons," of progressive history, was present to our thoughts 
as we crossed from the Rappahannock, come back with me 
once more to that beautiful river, and let me pick up a 
jotting or two, which, in my last hurried letter, I had 
overlooked. 

On board the steamer, as we made our last day's 
approach to Fredericksburg, we had a fellow-passenger, who, 
in connection with the captain of the boat, seemed to me 
to form a curious tableau vivant of Virginia in the time of 
Washington. It was a young Fairfax, fresh from the well- 
appointed and careful niceness of high-bred English life, 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 441 

and making his first acquaintance witli the free and easy 
planters of the Old Dominion. Whether or not a true 
picture of that period, it was, to rae, a most amusingly vivid 

contrast of character, as seen in that light ; and I must try, 

♦ 

at least, to give you a look into the same magic mirror, 
though the flesh and blood "spirits," still alive .and kick- 
ing, may not prove altogether subject to the waving of a 
goose-quill wand. 

With the young Englishman's appearance we were all 
very favorably impressed, in coming on board in the morn- 
ing — finding him almost alone in the cabin, but very well 
established and at home, as he had been a passenger since 
the boat's leaving Baltimore, the night before. He was 
the perfection of an animal in high condition. Middle- 
sized, straight, compact and athletic, he looked so uncom- 
monly well taken care of! In his clearest of complexions 
the white and red were as well distributed as in the cheeks 
and lips of a rigidly be-governessed young lady of sixteen . 
his teeth looked as lustrous and cool as the edge of a snow- 
bank ; his pink and pearl finger-nails terminated fingers of 
the daintiest action. A little too close cutting of his light 
hair took away from the grace of his head but added to 
the air of neatness; and a silky blond whisker on each 
cheek showed what the upper lip might have done, please 
God, in the way of a moustache, if he had " gone into the 

19* 



442 The Convalescent. 

Horse-guards." His thick, sensible shoes and gaiters were 
well brushed, and his shooting-jacket, waistcoat and trow- 
sers, though of the coarse grey material which is now the 
fashion, were of the cut and fittingness beyond suspicion of 
" ready-made." 

Unconscious of our presence, of course, for a while, the 
indignantly clean stranger studied his map and looked at 
his pocket compass, watching the scenery and evidently 
perplexed a little with what the magnetic needle told him 
of the boat's variations of north and south in following the 
windings of the river ; but the captain, after a little while, 
hippopotamized his huge limbs into an easy-chair, near 
by, and the conversation became general. 

You see such men as the captain occasionally, in Broad- 
way, but seldom with the same amplitude of manners and 
costume. He was naturally a magnificent man, " Continen- 
tal " in all his proportions ; very tall, very broad-shouldered 
and of very large noble features, and with a most good- 
natured, careless courtesy of address ; but — in his Dismal- 
Swampiness of a beard three days old, in his linen of many 
a neutral tint, his wisp of a black cravat tied under his left 
ear, his dress-hat which was " as well as could be 
expected " after much unforeseen experience, his blue body- 
coat with brass buttons (it and the black trowsers immemo- 
rially virgin of brush), his untied shoes and revelation of 
brawny chest by a general open sesame of shirt-bosom— « 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 443 

forming, altogether, as striking a contrast to the tidy 
vouno; Eno'lishman beside hirn as could well be iinao-ined. 

But the two were very great friends ! Rappahannock 
had not the smallest possible misgiving of his own United 
IStates'-worth of condescending agreeability ; and Fairfax, 
to all appearance, credited him with the amount. It was 
only a little embarrassing to the young Englishman, I soon 
observed, that the same unmitigated intimacy, which had 
been all very well while he was the only passenger in the 
upper cabin, and so alone with his new friend, was now to be 
sustained in the presence of three new comers who might 
possibly " think it a little odd." His own most studious use 
of the plainest and simplest language (like the proper " St. 
James St. Man " that he was), had no manner of effect on 
his friend's four-story adjectives and six-horse figures of 
speech ! And, presently, his ability " to stand any more " was 
put to a test, out of which he came, I thought, quite glori- 
ously — a charming illustration, in fact, of Sir Philip Sidney's 
beautiful rule of friendship : " There is nothing so great 
that I fear to do for my friend, nor nothing so small that I 
will disdain to do it for him." 

The captain was a candidate for fame. On the upper- 
deck stood an apparatus, of his construction, for turning 
salt water into fresh — tin pail and two stone jugs connected 
by a lead pipe, amounting to an impromptu distillery to be 
worked by tea-kettle application of steam — and, of this 



444 The Convalescent. 

valuable invention, he expected the formal recognition of 
Government, or, in other words, a patent and a " suitable 
appropriation." To show this wonder of ingenuity to us, 
individually, was the speedy inventor's easily accomplished 
wish, soon after our coming on board ; but that was not 
enough. He had prepared a manuscript essay, of about 
ten or twelve closely written sheets, on the science of auto- 
hydrostatics with common utensils, as illustrated by his 
arrangement of every-day jugs and pail ; and of this he 
wished to have a formal reading to the company. 

The speech with which this most formidable-looking 
manuscript was brought to light, was certainly very stag- 
gering. The captain's conscious thought was evidently 
that of a High Contracting Power introducing a miracle 
of invention to the attention of Queen Victoria — of whom, 
as "Our Royal Sister," he made half-a-dozen different 
mentions before he got through. But he wound up at the 
close with a formal request to the stylish young Fairfax 
that he would read the document aloud ! And of the 
embarrassed gentleman's compliance — considering the 
place, the presence of none but strangers, the half-ludicrous 
aspect of the whole affair, and the very doubtful complex- 
ion of the rumpled and ill-written manuscript — I had not 
the slightest expectation. 

But he did it ! 

With a stammer or two — a few London exclamations, 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 445 

such as "really!" "'pen my word!" "I positively fear !" 
" you'll excuse me," etc., etc., — he manfully swallowed 
something that was rising in his throat, buttoned his coat, 
pulled up his shirt-collar, gave one deprecating look at the 
company, and went bravely at it ! The punctuation and 
spelling were, of course, at the reader's own expense ; but 
the extent of sesquipedalian processionizing of the solemn 
superlatives and scientific phrases was most tryingly 
beyond the modern English supply of wind and utterance. 
A harder call upon the elocution of a well-educated and 
modest youth was probably never made. And, for the 
twenty minutes that it took to bring it to a close, the lis- 
tening and spacious captain sat back in his chair with his 
hands crossed on his stomach, and his large features in a 
satisfied glow of authorship, presenting (as I started with 
saying) a specimen of outer man, which, in contrast with 
the other specimen of the article (gentleman) from the 
original garden over the water, was very suggestive. 
Probably a similar contrast was presented, on the same 
river, a hundred years ago — the athletic and large-featured 
Rappahannocks of that day (of whom George Washington 
was one), comparing, in the same overgrown manner, with 
the newly arrived young Englishman who came over to 
" settle." It was hard to realize that the two who sat 
before us were plants from the same original stock, though 
they undoubtedly were so, as were the Fairfaxes and Vir- 
ginians of old time — our majestic captain (perhans it 



446 The Convalescent. 

should be allowed, however !) being the " George Wash- 
ington " a little run to seed ! 

At one of the landing-places on the river, the well- 
appointed young Englishman gathered his " traps " to- 
gether — his snug valise, his nicely boxed and strapped gun 
and shooting-bag, his map and guide-book, his stick and 
iinibiella — and, with a most affectionate leave of the cap- 
tain (with whom he had evidently been exceedingly 
amused, and to whom he had taken a great fancy), he was 
set ashore. In conversation with him I learned that he 
had chanced to fall in with a very delightful family from 
Virginia, in his travels abroad, and that he was now on 
his way to visit them ; with the primary object, however, 
of seeing how the country looked, thinking that he might 
possibly transplant hither that " younger son's portion " 
which thrives better in new soil. When I expressed a fear 
that he would find it lonely in these pine woods so far 
away from his London " club," he said : " Oh, I should go 
home every year, you know, of course !" So that Virginia 
woods do not seem so far off from London as they used to 
do, probably. 

Of the half-dozen omitted memoranda which I took you 
back to the Rappahannock to pick up, the enlarging upon 
only one has engrossed all the room of a reasonable letter. 
Possibly I may give you the other " stray waifs " hereafter. 
For the present, a merry Christmas to you ! 

Yours always. 



LETTER VII. 

Charm of the Number Seven — The Nile among Periodicals — Virginia Tea-table 
Peculiarity — Virginia Fashion of Ornamental Trees — Talk with a Physician 
About Intermittents and Negroes — Fever and Ague something of a Bugbear 
— Prescription — A Neglected Bird — Superiority of wild Geese to tame— Cu- 
rious Restoration of a Virginia Church — Former and Present Standard of 
Manners — Mount Vei'non from a Historical Point of View — Curious Docu- 
ment, etc., etc. 

Idlewild, January. 
I WILL try to get home in this seventh letter. I expected 
to do SO in the sixth; but, somehow, seven seems always 
to be the charmed number ! Of healthy parents, seven 
children, I believe, is about the average — then there are 
the "Seven Pleiades" and the "Seven Ionian Isles," the 
" Seven Wise Men of Greece " and the " Seven Sleepers," 
the "Seven Wonders of the World," the " Seven Gates of 
Thebes," and the "Seven Devils," which, we find (by their 
having been once " cast out "), is the number that inhabit 
a man. Then as to the Home JournaVs appetite for a 
seventh Virginia Letter, we have the precedent that there 
were just " Seven Mouths to the Nile " a name, by the way, 
in which we may well typify our beloved Journal — calling 
it the Nile among Periodicals, and woman, our queen, its 
Cleopatra ? 

But, to mv seventh letter. 



448 The Convalescent. 

There was a point of Virginia dietetics upon which I 
brought away an unsatisfied curiosity, viz., their manner 
of serving tea. In all other parts of the world, the lady 
at the head of the table puts the milk into the full cup 
which she serves out, setting the sugar upon the servant's 
tray, that the guest may sweeten it to suit himself. Now 
in Virginia, it is exactly the reverse. The lady herself puts 
in the sugar, but sends round the milk by the servant. 
And how should this difference be interpreted? Is 
there not a certain sovereignty of woman in it — showing 
that all sweetness is to be at her gracious disposal ? Or, 
as milk is proverbially " for babes," is it a courteous inti- 
mation that perhaps the guest is too much of a man to use 
it? There should be a philosophy somewhere, for the Old 
Dominion's differing from the rest of the world as to so 
essential a first principle of tea-table law ? 

And there is one point of Virginia cesthetics upon which 
I will venture to make a remark. All through the region 
which we traversed, in our excursions back from the Rap- 
pahannock, we observed a custom of whitewasJiing the 
trunks of the trees around the house. Now, while taste 
rejoices that they leave their old houses to the harmonious 
middle-tints of time — (not subject to the paint-mania 
which blotches the landscape with staring white villas and 
cottages at the North) — we cannot but find fault with 
these tall spectres on white stilts which surround the Vir- 



Trip to the Eappahannock. 449 

ginia mansions. We were told that a house was consid- 
ered healthier where the miasma was thus corrected ; but 
T should think the same quantity of lime might be distri- 
buted around the premises less conspicuously — laid in 
trenches or strewn upon the grass. Against the dark 
walls of the houses those whitewashed trees are in such 
unescapably strong relief! 

Apropos of the " miasma " just spoken of. At one of 
the houses where we were so hospitably entertained, I was 
fortunate enough to find, in an excellent conversationist 
who was my next neighbor at table, the most eminent 
physician of that part of the country. He was about 
retiring from the profession iu which he had passed his life, 
and, being a man of the world and a philosopher as well 
as a scientific observer, his comparison of the qualities of 
the two races (black and white), their difierent capabili- 
ties and relative adaptedness, was very instructive. From 
a question as to the natural exemption of the negro blood 
from the intermittent fevers so troublesome to the whites, 
arose the other Doints of the discussion. I wish I could 
tell all that this keen discriminator expressed of knowledge 
thus gathered by his own eyes and brain. I can scarce 
venture upon it, however — partly because I could not trust 
my memory to do full justice to all his statistics and nice 
distinctions, and partly because it is a subject difiicult to 
enlarge upon without misapprehension. 



450 The Convalescent. 

I may simply state ray conviction after listening to his 
eloquent array of reasonings, moral, physical and medical, 
that ncgroso]ihy is a science in which those two great 
authorities, Common Impression and General Knowledge, 
are very deficient. 

As to the " fever and ague," for which the climate of some 
parts of Virginia has had a bad name, the doctor thought 
it was a good deal of a bugbear. New-comers are liable to 
it, as a natural acclimation ; but, in all cases, it could be 
promptly cured, and, with a little care, always afterwards 
avoided. It is moreover a preventive of other diseases, 
leaves the patient a good appetite, and is no injury to the 
constitution. The treatment of it should be very decided : 
ten grains of quinine, mustard plasters on the chest, bottles 
of warm water to the feet, every possible aid to the action 
of the intestines, and as much whisky and water as could 
safely be given. After first discovery, to live generously, 
and never to inhale the morning or evening out-door air 
on an empty stomach. The truth is (thought my medical 
friend) that the half-educated and slenderly supported 
country doctors find it for their interest to prolong the dis- 
ease, and thus it is naturally much more heard of. But, as 
a whole, the climate of Virginia is one of the most enjoy- 
able and healthful in the world. 

And, by the way, I came very near bringing away from 
Virginia a curious proof of the superiority of the wild bird 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 451 

to the tame. In the yard of one of the plantations, I 
noticed a large flock of geese, who seemed singularly led 
and commanded by two much handsomer ones, nearly of 
their own kind. On inquiry, I found that this pair of 
acknowledged monarchs were wild geese, that had been 
caught in a trap and turned into the yard with their wings 
clipped. The fifteen or twenty domestic ones had imme- 
diately allowed the two strangers to take the lead, following 
them everywhere in their walks over the fields; and the 
difference of gait and of voice was quite remarkable. While 
nothino; could well be more uno-raceful than the waddle of 
the barn-yard goose, or more unmusical than its utterances, 
the aboriginals of the wild-wood were most majestic in 
movement, and, to say the least, very endurable in the key 
of their voices. With their black backs and necks, white 
breasts and variegated necks, they performed a certain 
undeniable parade of nobility at the head of the ignoble of 
their kind. I was very much tempted to avail myself of 
our host's kind otfer to cage and send them to take com- 
mand of the goese of Idlewild — only that the season was 
too far advanced for the journey. But what a comment of 
nature is the goose, thus ignobled by civilization, upon the 
misnomer of stigmatizing the untamed felcon as a " buz- 
zard 1" 

At a little village in Lancaster county, by the way, 
(Farnham), we saw an instance of buzzard-lapse and falcon- 



452 The Convalescent. 

« 

restoration — a very pretty brick cliurcli, which, falling into 
disuse some years ago, had been first let for a stable, then 
used as a distillery, but now is reconsecrated as a place of 
worship. (And, of how many a human soul is this the his- 
tory!) 

There would seem to be a contrast, too, between the 
present and the former standards of manners and behavior 
in this neighborhood. On board the Rappahannock steamer, 
which brought us hither, the largest placard, in gilt letters, 
thus reads : " Gentlemen respectfully requested not to 
get into their berths with their boots on." Yet Bishop 
Meade informs us that, in the records of this Lancaster 
county, for 1685, it is written, that "one John Chilton was 
fined and required to appear four times on his bended 
knees, and ask pardon each time, for a misdemeanor 
committed in respectable presence ; and that another man 
was fined five thousand pounds of tobacco for profane 
swearing." 

Of modern retrogression, however (and probable retrieval, 
too — thanks to the ladies!) what stronger instance 
could there possibly be, than the neglect of the tomb of 
Mount Vernon ! Taken from the cradle of Washington, as 
are all the incidents of this letter, it will not be amiss, per- 
haps, to close my correspondence from hence, by contrast- 
ing the first honors paid to his sacred ashes, with the sub- 
sequent half century of oblivious dilapidation. A relic 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 463 

of '99, lying at present on my table (and which enables 
me to present the contrast very effectively), will be inter- 
esting to the Mount Vernon spirit of restoration, now gen- 
eral throughout the land. It is a copy of the Funeral Hon- 
ors to George Washington, as performed at New York, on 
first hearing of his death. Thus reads the published pro- 
gramme : 

" FUNERAL PROCESSION. 

^^Regulations, relative to the procession for rendering funeral 
honors to the deceased General Washington^ as agreed to 
hy the committee of arrangements. 

" 1. The day to be observed as a day of solemnity and 
cessation from all business. 

" 2. That no carts, carriages, or persons on horseback 
(except such as are connected with the procession), appear 
in the streets through which the procession is to move, 
from ten o'clock in the forenoon until the procession shall 
be terminated. 

" 3. The line of procession will be formed in Broadway — ■ 
the left, which is to be composed of the military, in front 
of the Park. The other incorporations and societies, in 
the order determined on by the committee, which will be 
published on the day of procession, and which General 
Hughes will order to be carried into effect. 

" 4. The procession will move by the left, in front of the 
Alms-house, to the head of Beekman street ; down Beek- 
man street to Pearl street ; along Pearl street to Wall 
street; up Wall street to the City Hall; down Broad 
street to Beaver street; through Beaver street to the 



454 The Convalescent. 

Bowling-Green ; round the Bowling-Green, in front of 
the Government House ; up Broadway to St. Paul's 
Church. 

" 5, It is recommended to the citizens, in those streets 
through which the procession is going to pass, to cause them 
to be cleaned, and every obstruction to be removed that 
might impede the procession. 

" On the arrival of the front at the church, on a signal 
given, the whole will halt, and open to the right and left. 

" The bier, preceded by the music, Anacreontic and Phil- 
harmonic Societies, clergy, and girls in white robes, will 
pass through the procession, into the church ; the remainder 
of the procession moving after the bier in reversed order, 
when the procession shall have entered the church, on a 
signal given, the minute-guns will cease firing and the 
bells cease tolling. 

" The ceremonies in the church will bo opened with 
prayer by the Reverend Bishop Provoost, which will be 
succeeded by the first part of sacred music. 

" An oration will then be pronounced by G. Morris, Esq., 
which will be followed by the second part of Sacred 
music. 

" The urn, etc., will then be conveyed into the cemetery ; 
and three volleys fired by the troops under arms over the 
urn which will close the ceremonies of the day. 

" During the movement of the procession, minute-guns 
will be fired from the Battery, and the bells of the difier- 
ent churches will be tolled muffled. 

" Masters of vessels are requested to cause their colors to 
be hoisted half-mast during the day. 

"It is also earnestly recommended to the difi*erentmcorpo- 
rations, societies, and all others who join in the procession, to 
be punctual on the occasion. And to all citizens to observe 



1 



Trip to the Rappahannock. 455 

a profound silence, as well during the procession, as during 
the ceremonies in the church. 

" Signals will be given, by firing from a twenty-four 
pounder in the Park. 

" First gun — between nine and ten o'clock — for the differ- 
ent incorporations and societies lo meet at the respective 
places of rendezvous, 

" Second gun, for the formation of the line of procession. 

" Third gun, for the procession to move. 

" Fourth gun, for the procession to halt, and open to the 
right and left. 

" Fifth gun, for the minute-guns and bells to cease firing 
and tollinof. 

J. M. Hughes, ^ 

Ebenezer Stevens, | cornmittee 

Jacob Morton, )■ of 



Arrangements. 



James Farlie, 
John Stagg, Jr., J 

New York, 29^A December^ '99." 



Who, on that solemn day — witnessing the total suspen- 
sion of all business in the city, the procession with its dig- 
nitaries and its " girls in white robes ;" following the urn, 
the flags of all vessels at half-mast, the cleansing of all 
the streets through which the funeral procession was to 
pass, the firing of the minute-guns and tolling of muffled 
bells, the eulogy, the public order for the citizens to ob- 
serve a profound silence during the ceremonies, the pray- 
ers, the chants — who on that solemn day, let us ask, 



456 The Convalescent. 

would have believed a true prophecy of the next jBfty 
years' national neglectfulness of Mount Vernon ! 

Thank God that the Ladies and Edward Everett are 
once more training that buzzard of memory into a soaring 
falcon. 

And so home from the Rappahannock and its lessons 

comes 

Yours. 



THE END. 



3477-9 



